Long Live
by written-at-summer-sunset
Summary: It's a new school year and a fresh start. But with a beastly new girl and forgotten romance problems coming back into the picture, everything slips downhill. Things aren't any better when a school play and meddling actors are thrown into the mix. Sequel to Forbidden Love.
1. Prologue

**I'm so excited for this new story; I can't even put it into words. We started for the sequel in the middle of Forbidden Love, so it should take as long to write and publish and plan as the first one. Neither should the final trilogy to this series either.**

**So like the last one, this is going to start with a prologue. And unlike FL, we will have dates.**

**And yes, my partner Cody Simpson vs. Billy Unger is the one who came to me and was all like, "Chase needs a love life, so would you write one with me?" and boom, here we are.**

* * *

_August 21__st__ 2013_

Christine's Pov

Rainy summer days were exhausting. But not in the way you would think. Davenport took rainy days as extra time. By _extra time, _he really meant training us until we collapsed from exhaustion.

That was part of the reason why I was in a sour mood. Soggy shoes, soaked sweats, and a squishy bra the consequence of walking down the street. Another part of the reason being that I usually _liked _rain—the walking through it part was not enjoyable.

Rachel was helping—in her Rachel way. She started making a fashion vlog shortly after the fourth of July. Everyone had a part; Sammie and Ashley covered accessories; Janelle planned practically _everything_; Bree and I handled all the behind the scenes things—working the camera, editing and uploading it to our YouTube channel. Because of the rain (so unusual for August), we were able to make at least three vlogs a week.

"Do you have the planner?" Ashley called to ask.

"Mhm," I hummed, peeling off my hoodie and falling to my floor. I didn't want to drench my bed, too. "I could it off, if you want." I really didn't want to leave the house again, but I could bear it.

There was shuffling on her end of the line. "Nah," Ashley finally dismissed. "I'll pick it up tomorrow. But do you mind putting down birthstone jewelry for Friday's show? Thank you, love you. Tootles."

I hung up and dug around my desk. Although I didn't use my desk for work reasons, the girls insisted I was the most organized. That left me and Janelle to cover what topic would go in which vlog on whatever day.

"Finally!" I cheered, fist pumping the air and digging out the purple notebook peeking out from the colored sketches of different shoelaces and how to wear them. I started another search for my bag to put the planner in. Before I could forget, I snapped my fingers, grabbed a stray pen, and wrote down Ashley's idea for Friday.

I got up to look for the bag in my closet…and tripped over it on the way there.

Just my luck.

* * *

**Okay, so this was short even for a prologue, but this was kind of a chapter to tell how the characters' summer went. Suffice to say, we had no ideas for the summer.**

**Review and tell us how excited you are for Long Live to develop. **


	2. Chapter 1

**Hey, first chapter. I'm really excited because this will be way better than FL's first chapter because I was still growing more than I am now during the writing process of FL. So I, in complete confidence, can assure that this will be much less sloppy than the first chapters of the last one.**

* * *

_August 31__st__, 2013_

Chase's Pov

I felt Christine's grin against my lips, her finger pulling at my hair. I smiled back, teeth bumping as I pulled her closer by the waist.

"Oh, good Jesus," a voice cried out, two hands effectively pushing us away from each other. Leo looked at us in dismay, disgusted. "I don't need you and your tongue shows germing up the freaking living room!"

"Then don't look," Christine smirked, grabbing the front of my shirt and jerking me back in. I smirked, leaning closer until her back hit the couch.

Leo stalked off, mumbling something under his breath as he went.

It wasn't I was breathless and my lungs were hurting that I pulled away. Christine looked up at me, eyes wide as her fingers held tight to the front of my shirt.

"Whoa," she whispered, sounding breathless. I leaned down closer, foreheads touching. He hair splayed out everywhere around her face; I reached up to wipe a stray lock from her cheek.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," I whisper back. Christine smiled.

"How would you feel to a little shopping trip?"

That's when my day kind of went to hell.

* * *

It wasn't my idea to go anywhere. I really just wanted to stay home. But Bree just _had _to drag me to the mall with her. She wasn't the one at fault, though; Christine was dragging me, too. Maybe if we hadn't been touching, it would have saved me from all this.

"No offense, babe, but you _really _need to change your style for this year," Christine said, with all the other girls nodding along in agreement. Leo had been forced into this shopping torture, too. But instead of resisting like I did, he was too busy oogling Janelle to notice anything.

Bree and Rachel held my hands behind my back so I couldn't escape. (Well, I could, but I wasn't going to preform martial arts moves in the middle of the mall and they knew that.) Not to mention, I couldn't take down girl. "If you would stop wiggling this wouldn't be so torturous," Rachel said.

"I'm surprised you know how to use the word _torturous_."

Rachel kicked my legs. "Shut up."

"I thought you'd need a more rocker kind of image," Bree chimed, setting a fedora on my head. She frowned, not liking the look and took it off. "You know, to go with your oh-so-fancy guitar you never stop playing."

Ashley gasped; Sammie let out a surprised squeak. I cringed at how high it was and how it hurt my ears.

"You play guitar?" They cried out and looked at me with big eager eyes.

"Yeah," I said slowly, "and Adam plays drums...kind of."

Just when they were about to say more, Christine walked in front me. I was blocked from their sight. "Whoa, ladies," she said with a smirk. "He's off the market-let's move along."

Ashley and Sammie started walking just a little faster than before-I didn't blame them. Christine could be really intimidating when she wanted to be. My girlfriend turned, now walking backwards. "Thanks for telling me," she hissed, arms crossed.

I shrugged as best as I could with my arm still held behind me. "I didn't think it was that important."

Christine just rolled her eyes and steadily avoided a clothing rack and turned around again. "Whatever."

Leo and Janelle, Bree, and Rachel were snickering at us like they weren't a mere feet behind us.

"What about this?" Rachel suggested, picking a black V-neck from one of the racks near her. Even with only one hand, she had a _strong_ grip. It was plain-no patterns or stripes like I usually wore. "Pair this with some sexy dark jeans and gray high-tops"-she nodded as if impressed by the picture in her head-"you might actually look as cute as Chris says you look."

I turned from her to face my girlfriend, feeling smug. "You've been bragging about me, huh?"

"I can stop as fast as I started," she called over her shoulder, fingering some button up shirts without even facing me.

Leo snickered louder. "Man, you're getting suckered by your own girlfriend," he laughed.

Janelle stood next to him, hands placed firmly on her hips. She moved one hand to under his chin so he was looking right at her face. "Us girls can get pretty cocky when we want to," she said, leaning close. Leo's expression was so priceless it was a bit impressive he didn't faint on the spot.

Bree used one hand to finger a pair of dark blue jeans. "And it wouldn't be so bad these," she commented lightly. Suddenly, Bree brightened and snapped her fingers. "Chase, you know those red high tops you got? Perfect first day of school outfit!"

* * *

After picking out some clothes and looking through Hot Topic (where Bree and Rachel finally let go of me), Leo dragged us to the comic store. Instead of staying, Rachel, Ashley, and Sammie went into Victoria's Secret, right across from the comic store. (No wonder why we caught the cashier gazing at the window instead of ringing up a very annoyed-looking middle-aged man.)

When we finally managed to detach Leo from the _New Releases _section, we settled down at the food court.

"Jesus, did buy all the pajamas in freaking store?" Christine gawked.

"No," Ashley hummed, "we got most of their bras too."

Leo threw his hands over his ears, shouting rather loudly, "Too much detail! Too much detail!"

"And exhibit A as to why you will never have a girlfriend," Rachel said and pointed a Leo. "You don't have the manliness of Adam."

"Yeah," Bree said, "and Adam doesn't either." At Rachel's glare, she raised her hands in mock defense. "I only speak the truth."

Bree leaned back in her chair, sipping her smoothie and giving Rachel a look as if to challenge her. Of course, Rachel couldn't because she knew Bree was right.

"Okay that's it!" Christine declared after a while. She smashed her cup of frozen yogurt onto the table and stood. "That chick has been eyeballing you for the last five minutes!"

Before I could stop her, Christine stomped off to a group made up of two giggling blondes and a cocky looking redhead. "Can I help you with something?"

The redhead-obviously the leader of the ring of girls-spoke up with a cocky smirk, "Yeah, Hon. Set me up with that hunk of something over there."

Imagine the chaos that broke loose when she pointed at me.

Christine didn't freak out-what she did was way worse. What I learned from all Bree's friends being girls was that when they didn't freak out, they were planning on doing something far worse than that.

"Yeah..." My girlfriend dragged out slowly. "That 'hunk of something' is my boyfriend." She stood taller, arms crossed, jaw clenched, and eyes set narrowly. "So I suggest you back off before you get into something you don't belong in, _Hon_."

"Oh, god," Rachel exclaimed.

"Here we go," Bree added with a punctuating gulp of her smoothie.

I haven't seen Christine that mad since we had to deal with that grumpy waitress in Disney World this summer.

"What are you betting?" Leo whispered to me. "Which one will scream first? My money's on the other chick."

I didn't answer but instead kept watching; dread filled my stomach uncomfortably.

"Aw." The redhead put a hand over her heart in fake sympathy. "Poor him. I mean seriously, Hon, split ends much?"

"That is _it_!" Rachel shouted, standing up so fast her chair tipped back and clatter to the floor. So many heads whipped toward us so fast I had trouble counting them all. "You wanna go, Barbie? Let's go."

She marched over, angry and riled up, fists clenched at her sides as she stalked up to the redhead in fury, leaning close.

Do all girls have some mode they switch into when they suddenly want to become animals?

Christine really didn't look like she wanted to hold her back, but she grabbed Rachel's arm and turned, saying as she went, "Com'n, Rach. We're not gonna waste all our time on a four foot nine living doll."

The redhead scowled and immediately turned to her friends—all whispering and packed together tightly.

* * *

"Oh mi god, she was just so _annoying_!" Bree cried into her phone, gripping it with both hands. She, Adam, and I were already ready dressed in sleepwear, but lounging around the living room. By the sounds of it, she was talking to one of the girls. "I can't believe that little—that little _thing _thinks she can flaunt around and do all that witchy crap she was pulling today."

"Rachel wasn't that bad," I tried to joke.

Bree glared. "Not funny."

"I thought it was."

She rolled her eyes, telling me, "Whatever," before turning back to her phone and pacing behind the couch. I continued to stare up at the ceiling, thinking about the first day of school next week.

I was going to be a junior. That usually meant getting a car, making out with your girlfriend (already done that), and drunk parties where everyone's shirtless. For Adam, Bree, and I moving up a high school status mean a harder level of training—for Christine, too. Well yeah, and the car, too.

"Can you not be on the phone?" I asked.

"Nope," Bree said easily, not breaking her stride as she continued to pace. I never understood why she had to walk when she was on the phone.

Sighing, I sat up. I fixed my shirt and adjusted the sleeves, yawning. Stretching, I stood and made my way to the stairs, feeling tired a little suddenly.

"Buzz kill!" Adam yelled up the steps after me. I let my head poke around the corner.

"At least I can spell it!"

* * *

**I know this is really short, but this is the first chapter and I didn't know what else to put.**

**So, what do you think about the redhead? Like her, hate her? **

**And the Povs will have a bit more of an order than last time. I'm trying to make so each chapter is either told through Christine or Chase's pov through all of it except for very rare occasions. Right now, the pattern in Christine, Chase, etc.**

**Please review, and give us some ideas :D**

**PS: The first couple of chapter will be a little bit shorter than liked, but by the third chapter, it should be longer.**


	3. Chapter 2

**So this will be one of the longer chapters. And I know the dates are little out of whack, but I'm following with this year's calendar rather than next year, and if the dates happen to be wrong, please just pretend they're right.**

**On a random note, I'm feeling quite proud with how quickly I'm getting everything updated. I mean, this is way faster than FL and I still am able to get other stuff done. This week is just one of those weeks I guess. (But I say quick updates now and probably just jinxed it.)**

* * *

_September 4__th__, 2013_

Christine's Pov

I woke up early. 6:15. I didn't know why—I definitely didn't fall asleep early—but I got up and started digging for my clothes and got around anyway.

Not to be mean, but Rachel bought me so much crap. So many new clothing options, that it nearly made my head burst. I dug and dug through bag after bag until I found the right Avengers tee and paired it with my own skinny jeans. I grabbed a nearby beanie and popped it over my neatly brushed hair. Shoes were a hard one, but luckily I had been paying attention during our shoe vlog; I grabbed my zebra Converse.

Dad wasn't up, but Rem was. I vaguely remembered Dad being asleep when I got home from the mall trip. He'd been heading in early lately and I've been getting worried with how much work he'd been burying himself in. It couldn't be good for his stress.

"Hey, Rem?" She stopped pouring my orange juice to look up at me. "What's Dad been up to?" Just because I knew he was busy, didn't mean I knew with _what_.

Rem whirred toward me. I took a big spoonful of Lucky Charms, kind of wishing it was Apple Jacks instead. But for now, I could deal. "Oh, you know," she said vaguely. I really _didn't _know, but either she was ignoring that or didn't care—maybe even both. "File stuff. The Community's been putting a lot of stress on him for the…lab reports."

It took all my willpower not to cringe at the words _lab reports_. It kind of hurt Da was sharing my life with other scientist, but I knew that he kind of had no choice when it came to it being his job and all. Another thing that I didn't get was they the science was referred to as The Community—at least by Rem and Dad. I don't think that's what Davenport called them, because all Davenport ever did was gloat about his success.

But instead of sharing my thoughts, all I do is respond with an uneasy, "Okay," and putting my empty bowl in the sink. I finished my orange juice in one big gulp and put that in the sink, too. Checking my phone, I have a few minutes before I usually leave, but I told Rem good-bye, picked up my backpack and left anyway.

Chase, Adam, Bree, and Leo were all waiting at the end of the block just like we agreed on. With it being our first day of school together, we decided it'd be better to walk.

"Was your Dad acting crazy, too?" Bree asked as soon as I approached them. I crossed my arms and gave her a look.

"Hello to you too, Bree."

"Fine. _Hello_, Christine. Now, was your Dad off his rocker or what?"

I shrugged. "Heck if I know," I said wistfully as we started to walk. "He's been locked up in his office-slash-lab since the end of August."

"Yep," Bree confirmed, "That sounds pretty crazy to me."

"Why dos his sanity level matter to you, anyway?" Chase asked suddenly. I had to admit, he had a point; Bree never took interest in my Dad's mental health before, and it seemed odd for her to be concerned about it now. On the first day of school, of all days.

Her shoulders rose and her face twisted in concern, as if worried by something but didn't want to say. "I don't know," she said finally. "It just feels like the science world's gonna want to chart our school lives. Today would be the day they start, wouldn't it?"

Chase sighed as if telling her this many times before. "Bree, you're just kidding yourself," he said like reading off a script. "No one is taking notes on it."

"How do you know?" When he didn't respond, Bree nodding her head as if his silence settled everything. "Exactly, you _don't_ know."

After that, the subject was dropped. We continued on to school with Adam occasionally blurting out in random disappointment that they didn't visit a cow farm like he wanted to this summer. Like always, his sadness about the farm animal was easily passed and ignored.

Upon arriving to school Leo took off toward Gordo, new comic from our last mall trip in front of him at arm's length and mile wide grin stretched a crossed his face. I shook my head and laughed at his childish behavior; even with a new school year, some things will never change.

I was turning to go to my locker when I bumped into something. "Sorry," I muttered, but not really meaning it. Even though I should've meant it, it was their fault, too.

I dropped to the floor to pick up my sprawled books when a rough, calloused hand bumped into mine as I reached for my History book. "It's okay."

At that voice, I froze. Just when my morning was off to a good start. Callan looked down at me—he was still taller than me by a good couple of inches even when knelt down beside me. My poetry book for English was in his outstretched hand. His hair, still as golden and beachy as last year was swept to the side. I bit my lip, resisting the urge to ask if any bleach had been involved into making his hair so Pop Star perfect. When he spoke, Callan's accent was stronger; didn't one of the girls mention him going back to down under for the summer?

"Oh…hey." I stood, hugging my books a little too tightly. My smile felt a bit too forced and was way obvious, adding to awkwardness already there. "How've you been?"

"Good, you?" Callan hadn't changed much since last year. A little taller (boy, I bet the basketball team loved that) and tanner, eyes deepening to a deeper blue. But no, I didn't see anything majorly attractive—nothing to make me fawn like Ashley and Sammie. (Occasionally Janelle to, but no one said anything for Leo's sake.)

I rocked back and forth; the floor was so interesting. "Oh I've been fine," I said quietly, changing my sight to the cover of my poetry book. "Well—uh, bye, I guess."

Leaving quickly, I turned on my heel and speed-walked to my group.

"Talk about _awkward_," Rachel sang with a grin, nudging me with her elbow.

"Shut up, will ya?" I shouldered my bag.

She rolled her eyes and Bree did the same with a head shake. "But, man, had the summer treated him well…" Her eyes watched as Callan, reluctantly, walked off and waited for the elevator. "Maybe a bit too well if you know what I mean."

I ignored my friends' playful jabs, suddenly aware that the boy seemed to have disappeared into thin air. "Where'd the dudes go?" I asked, spinning the dial on my locker. "Weren't they there a second ago?"

"Well, yeah…" Rachel rolled her lips into her mouth. "But Chase kind of saw how you two were acting and before our…let me say, _special friend, _could appear, Leo and Adam dragged him off. But it was mostly Adam," she added like an afterthought. Of course—she'd say Adam did the most even if he was on the debate team and just sat there, picking his nose. (Not that Adam ever heard of a debate team…or that our school even had one.)

I sighed, digging around for my pencil case; why was it that I was always freaking losing that thing? "Well, later my dudettes. I must leave you to face the dragon known as my biology teacher." Waving, I dragged my slumped self toward Mr. Borges's classroom sadly.

Being in that grump's class was one of the worst ways to start off the first day of school.

* * *

I managed to get through my three morning periods (why they called it three when Math was really just two mushed together, I won't ever understand) pretty well. I made to lunch unscathed.

"So, oh em gee!" Ashley reported; face holding a seriousness that her persona often lacked. I felt a bit small compared to her, even when her business suit was really a band tee, denim mini, and diamond studs with gold heels. Still, she could give Rachel's mom a run for her money. "I have the biggest news since the Justlena break-up."

Bree put down her slice of pizza with a look of mild annoyance. "How many times do I have to say this?" she cried fed up. "They aren't broken up if they keep getting together every five minutes. Those celebrities need to suck it up and make up their minds…"

I nodded in agreement as Ashley said, "_Anyway_, you know that really shrill, annoying, admittedly bitchy redhead from the mall?" Well, yeah, apparently she's Tina Walter and the new girl for the district."

Oh no.

I liked to consider myself a pretty reasonable, okay person when it came to dealing with people I wasn't exactly fond of. Take my mother for example—I could have exploded way many more times that I did, but I held it back most of the time for my Dad's sake. Without my conscience I probably would've blown up at him too many times for him to handle.

But that bossy, infuriating, flirting redhead—_Tina_—that kept hitting on my boyfriend? And completely ignoring my warning signs for her to back off? Oh god no. I can't put up with her for the next three or something years of my high school experience. I just couldn't.

"What did you just say?" I asked my voice dangerously calm. I could've sworn I heard I heard the other girls mutter, "Oh shit, here we go." But could they blame me? If anything, I found myself doing way better than Rachel did when she found out about Adam's little thing about Danielle. "Tina Walters, eh?"

Sammie spread her hands out in front of her. "Look on the bright side," she tried cheerfully, "She's joining right at the beginning of sophomore year—when all of the cliques have been done and formed in freshman year. So according to my calculations, she should be the nobody no one talks to for at least a good couple months."

"And rumor has it she has Balton and Lite." Rachel raised a brow at me. I've want to ask how she mastered how to do that, but after giving the question some serious thought, it sounded ridiculous even in my head. "Don't you have those, dear Christina?"

I furrowed my eyebrows right back at her. Ha—at least I could do that. "First off, my full name is Christin_e_, Genius. But, I appreciate your efforts of trying to be smart. Secondly, you try to ruin my lunch and I will personally make sure you burn in hell, my dear."

"Ouch," Bree snickered through a bite of pepperoni and cheese. "I can see where this year is heading."

I gave her a look. "Well, little Miss Sunshine, we have yet to see you take the oath of this lunch table and commit a swear as tribute." I pulled out my best this-means-business face and put my eyes, interlocked, on the table.

"Bitch, please."

Rachel actually gasped, like not expecting that.

I clapped my hands. "Well done, Davenport."

We continued talking and slamming this one girl. I don't know why, but I sat there and let them croon about this girl I didn't know. But a nagging little drill in the back of my head convinced me that I _did _know—she tried hitting on my boyfriend; immediately she's a threat. I was about to intervene on Bree and Sammie's side conversation when an arm looped around my shoulder and a breath tickled my ear.

"Hey." I smiled and reached up, pecking my boyfriend's lips. "Mind if I join?"

"I might kill you if you don't," I joked as Chase laughed, dragging up a chair and sitting down next to me.

The girls sighed wistfully. "If they are _still _at the honeymoon level at their wedding, I may explode," Ashley commented. Rachel looked at us, saddened. I felt bad for her—even if Adam did know her feelings he didn't express anything. Such a pity for her to have a real, genuine crush on someone who didn't know how to treat a girl right. But it's not like anyone could tell Adam that, it'd be like kicking a puppy.

"What are you think about?" Chase asked, leaning closer to me.

I shook my head, smiling at him in assurance. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

He looked at me, not entirely convinced, but went back to his food anyway. I noticed a stunning look or tall and strong and geeky and egotistical around him. Just when I was about to ask where Leo and Adam were (I swear, those three were almost never _not_ together) when Chase suddenly asked, "What was up with you and mister know-it-all?"

I should've expected this. "There is nothing going on with Callan and I," I said, giving him a pointed look as I said Callan's name. "I thought that was last year?"

He sighed, smiling a tiny smile at me as he kissed my cheek. "It was. I swear _it is_."

Maybe I would've given a response, or maybe not. But we never know because at that moment, a stick with too much spray tan and strawberry perfume breeze into the cafeteria in the biggest pair of pink high heels I've ever seen in my life.

"Hey there, handsome." Tina winked. Straight at _Chase_. "Miss me?"

* * *

**So I kind of wanted to make it as a cliff hanger, and I promise not to be too long with the next chapter. I have some loose ends to finish up with my other work. I hope you guys liked and please review us your input and ideas.**

**And in case your wondering, the whole girls and the cussing thing was inspired by me and my friends' lunches when we hang out together, and I used it a little for length. The next chapter will be in Chase's Pov.  
**


	4. Chapter 3

**Seriously, if you guys have any suggestions for future chapters we'd love to hear 'em.**

* * *

Chase's Pov

The entire cafeteria seemed to go silent in her presence. And it's hardly ever when the whole school society seemed to agree on the same thing at the same time.

But when Tina Walters, official new girl, came into the room, it was more than one of those rare moments.

Guys fawned at her feet; girls gaped from a distance; she was just that perfect.

My girlfriend would've pounced if it wasn't for Rachel locking her to her seat and keeping her there. Our whole table looked at her. No one but Christine ever showed any sign of interest toward me, especially one as popularity defined as Tina Walters. Suffice to say, it put everyone into shock.

"What are you doing here, Barbie?" Christine spat grumpily from her seat. She may not have been able to move, but that didn't mean her mouth couldn't. "Shouldn't you and Ken Doll be wandering around your dream house like idiots? Or does he do that without you, too?"

Tina squinted leaning in her direction like she couldn't figure out what she was looking at. "That's right." She pulled back with a nod, smirking smugly. "Poor peasants like you don't understand the high life."

"And what makes you think I'm poor?"

"For one thing"—Tina gestured toward her clothes, which I thought were cute and had no problem telling Christine so this morning—"your clothes. I mean, I know there's such a thing a casual, but dumpster diving is too far."

This time it was Bree who spoke up. "Look here, Princess." She stood calmly from her seat, hand intertwined at her stomach. "I suggest you move along—quickly—before you start something that doesn't need to be started." Bree raised an eyebrow, smiling coldly as she stared Tina down. "After all, I'm such you'll want a fresh, _clean _slate at your new school." Then she smiled a bit more brightly. "Welcome come to Mission Creek high school—enjoy your stay."

Tina scoffed, turning in her humongous heels and breezing out the cafeteria doors.

The table is silent before Rachel spoke up, high-fiving Bree. "Wow, dude. Remind me to give you a call when I need to break up with my boyfriend."

* * *

_September 11__th__ 2012_

It's been a week and things at school were already intense. Apparently Tina had three classes with Christine and was in her lab partner in biology. Plus, Tina appeared to have made some minions in her few days at Mission Creek, and no one was too thrilled about that once they got past her looks. They were basically made-up killer sharks looking for prey on every girl—and sometimes, even the occasional guy—wherever they turned. It was sickening, but grudgingly impressive how quick they worked.

I was sitting downstairs at the McLean residence. Trina was in her room, and the rest of the girls were in Rachel's room, doing their fashion vlog or whatever while they forced me to wait down here because today was the big day they tried focusing on male style.

I really think that just want to torture me more because what they did at the mall wasn't enough.

Their parents left before we came over after school, making the house empty of any adults able to stop my _volunteer work_—as the girls insisted on calling it—from happening. Oh joy.

Fifteen minutes past before I'm jumped. Someone, who was really _good _at hiding themselves, blindfolded me, bound me for Christ's sake, and then forcefully dragged me upstairs and then shoved me into Rachel's room. Whoever did so probably made sure to keep me off camera or, their viewers would've gotten a bit suspicious.

"And now, our special guest star…" Rachel began. I squirmed and get a kick to my hamstring as my restraints are removed.

My sight given to me just in time to watch Christine swing the camera toward herself, smiling coyly as she added, "The absolute love of my _life_…"

Rachel and Sammie rolled their eyes while Ashley cooed from somewhere off to my right. So that meant Bree was the one to practically kidnap me upstairs. Oh, fun.

Bree gave me a shove, and I stumbled on camera, smiling awkwardly with a hand in my hair as I wave to the camera. Rachel pushed me backward, causing me to take an unexpected seat on her bed. I crossed my arms as the girls started to fuss at my clothes.

"Now girls," Janelle narrated as they got to work, stripping me of my plaid shirt and picking at my hair. "We all know that, unlike the girl population, all boys dress somewhat similar—whether it is their ripped jeans, gelled hair, or obsession with high tops. But we, or Rachel as she forced me to say, have discovered a way to turn you _yuck _into a _hunk_."

I snort at her mini speech and try to shoot her a look through the barrier Rachel, Sammie, and Ashley had decided to create around me. I could hear Christine and the others giggle at my torture as they watch in amusement.

It's long, dragged out minutes when they finally declare themselves done. They pull away and retreat and I heard gasps. That either meant I looked better than when I was downstairs or worse. Nonetheless, I knew I wasn't going to like it.

Christine panned closer, focusing on the top of my head before working down to my tighter-than-before shoes—and to think all the girls in our school would see me as a big guy doll. And sadly, that's what I was.

"Actually," Bree called from the doorway, pursing her lips in thought—like the thought of complimenting me was the last thing she expected to do today. "He doesn't look half bad." She stepped closer and ran a judgmental hand over my newly spiked hair. Her face was critically as she looked to the designers. "Brush or comb?"

Ashley rolled her lips in her mouth before she answered, looking proud as she leaned forward, hand on hip. "A brush to smooth down the sides a little and a comb to give the front and the crown of his head the little spike."

"His clothes are pretty sexy looking," Christine commented with no shame. I smirked as she winked slyly at me from behind her camera. But despite her comments—no doubt just to get me flustered so all of YouTube could see—I still needed to see how clownish I looked. Even with knowing these girls for nearly two years, I had no trust in them handling my appearance whatsoever. And I doubt they could blame me.

Standing from the bed, I hurried to a card table they had set up next to her full body mirror and grabbed a hand mirror, holding it out in front of me.

And must I say, oh my freaking _God_.

My hair looked like it always did: spiky. But they did something, mostly likely gel—the cool, oily liquid they massaged into my scalp—tipped the edges of my hairs darker, giving it a more casual, melodramatic teenager look.

Satisfied, I set down the hand mirror and turn to the one hanging on her closet down.

To my total surprise that didn't completely tear my old clothes to shreds. They changed me into a casual brick red V-neck (for Christ's sakes, don't they realize my _chest _was on _camera_ during all of this?) and just tightened my belt—not that I was sagging in the first place.

"So I don't look like a complete disaster," I admitted with a shrug.

Janelle stepped in front of the camera again, this time using a stray hairbrush as a microphone. "That is how a boy says he likes something." She rolled her eyes. "My God, they will never let go of their pride."

I didn't protest because even I knew it was true.

* * *

_September 14__th__ 2012_

Everything was going pretty well for a Friday morning. Nothing too major and scarring had been started—at least, not yet. Because as much as I love my girlfriend, even I couldn't deny we always had a way of finding ourselves involved in heavy drama. Whether we wanted to be or not.

But Tina and Christine had the same free period and it's pretty much amazing they haven't bitten each other's heads off yet—it could very well happen in the near future, and no one's denying it.

It's after the last bell of the day when it happened. Christine, Bree, Rachel, and I were prepared to walk home when Christine claimed she forgot her homework in her locker and went to get.

Five minute passed (really seven if you count how long it took for her to get to her locker) before the screaming began. Crowds were formed and we had to push our way through several waves of students before bursting into the center, where my girlfriend stood face to face with Tina, looking outraged—red faced, white fists balled at her side, and eyes narrowed so far, it looked like she was squinting.

"You know what, Barbie? You should back off before someone gets hurt." Christine stepped closer, poking her opponent in the chest with her index finger. "And I swear to you it isn't going to be me."

Tina looked unfazed, tapping her gold high heel (Jesus, how can she walk in those?) against the floor, before she did something startling.

She slapped Christine.

The halls were wiped silent as the slap of skin against skin rang through each student, everyone looking shell shocked. Christine stood there, head still turned from the impact. Her hand slowly crept up to her cheek, feeling the flush skin.

"This proves how much of a bitch you really are," she hissed humorlessly with a laugh. "Do you know how cliché you're acting?" Christine stepped closer, each girl inches away from each other. "If you were really _all that_, you'd use something a bit more original, wouldn't you?"

Tina was about to retort when a loud, thunderous shout rocketed off the walls. "What's going on here?"

Principal Perry pushed her way vividly through the throngs of students. Judging by her expression, she was not pleased to have the whole school dawdling about several minutes after the bell.

"You two. My office—now."

* * *

Christine wouldn't tell me what happened. But I knew that it had something to do with the school play—not that the school was famous for throwing on plays. It was quite rare that they ever did one that _wasn't _written by a student beforehand.

"Babe," Christine said calmly. We were laying side by side, staring—or in Christine's case, glaring—up at my ceiling. We've been doing it for a while and sometimes I forgot to blink and my eyes start to burn. Go figure. "If you don't quit asking, I won't be afraid to punch something, and I can't guarantee it won't be you."

Have I ever mentioned how violent my girlfriend could be?

"Okay, fine," I said, dropping it—for now. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Do you have any Shakespeare books?"

I paused, not expecting the question. "I didn't know you had a thing for old romantic novels," I decided to counter finally.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Chase," Christine snorted, looking at me before darting her eyes back to the ceiling. "And my love my romance seems to be one of them."

I sat up, looking around my room before crawling off. I knew one of Davenports many extra rooms had to hold a library. "Well, come on then," I said, heading to the day. I was not going to do this alone. "Better get to exploring."

When exiting my room and going through the living room, we saw Bree lounging on the couch, looking mildly interested as she flipped through a magazine.

"Would you happen to know where to find a library?" Christine asked nonchalantly.

Bree didn't look up as she answered. "Fourth hall, second door on you left."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "How did you know that already?" I asked.

"Oh, God, I really need to get a life," Bree groaned as she frowned down at her magazine. "And a boyfriend…"

"If it comes to it, you'd be awesome at making maps of the house. Your friends _are _always getting lost."

She rolled up her magazine and swatted me in the shoulder with it. "Shut up and leave."

Christine pulled me upstairs, counting the halls as she passed them. She stopped in front of the fourth one. It wasn't wide as the others; I could tell it wasn't used often. There were only ten doors—five on each side, as opposed to the halls with fourteen doors and seven on each side.

She latched onto my wrist and pulled me down the hall, muttering until she reached the second door on the left. When she stopped, my girlfriend crossed her arms. "What should I be expecting when I open this door?"

"Like I know."

"Gee, what a help you are."

Hesitantly, Christine pushed the door open and stepped inside. The instant change I noticed was the carpet and instead of tile floor like the hall. Huge, ceiling to floor oak book shelves stood tall on each side. A black marble desk was pushed up against the window facing us, an old fashioned desk lamp and dinosaur of a computer—with a jumble of wire twisted together and snaking across the floor until they reached an outlet on the wall feet away from it.

"Man," Christine said, waving her hand in front of her face. "Even the school library doesn't smell this…_old_." She gave me a crooked grin as she ran a finger across the desk top and cringed when she saw the layer of dust on her fingertip. "Are you sure this room isn't from the eighteenth century?"

"Please," I said, "he probably had this before he was genius and abandoned it when he made all of his inventions."

I walked over the one of the shelves, running my hand across all the spines. All the titles were in alphabetical order, easy to find and easy to put away. The room was pretty big, twenty bookshelves in all.

"You check that side, I got this side!" Christine called from where she stood, flipping through a frail, yellowed book.

I shrugged and I kept going. Since all the books were done alphabetically by title, I head toward the middle and search for the _R_'s.

"Come on…come on." I squinted kneeling down to the last shelf and focusing on each spine before I let out a cry of victory as I yanked out the worn book from between its neighbors. "I found it!" I held the weathered book high above my head, popping out from the shelves in triumph.

Christine sighed. "Finally," she said, voice dripping with relief. "This aging, old book smell is killing my lungs."

We hurried back out into the hall, I handing over the book to my girlfriend. Christine eyed it as she ran her thumb over the cover.

"Well, that's just great. Now all I need is a translator; seriously, who can understand this stuff?"


	5. Chapter 4

**Ugh, I screwed up. So, just to be clear, it's 2013, so ignored all the times I put 2012, kay?**

**For story updates: ThatGirlwriter on Twitter.**

* * *

_September 14th 2013_

Christine's Pov

That stupid fight with little Barbie was _not _my fault. She stuck her nose into my business, thinking she could just swoop in and mess everything up, and I blew. So, really, I couldn't be blamed.

But Principal Perry wouldn't listen to reason. Instead of seeing my points ( I blame the fact that's never had a boyfriend and couldn't relate to my perspective whatsoever), she told me that I either buck and audition for the school play or I get a three week suspension—for _me_! And I wasn't even the one who slapped someone. That was all Tina's doing, but no; she played the new girl card and "was feeling very mixed emotions right now" crap. The principal was putty in her hands. The only thing that brightened my spirits in the tiniest bit was her exclamation that Tina, as punishment, had to audition, too.

Granted, she said _audition_—she never said I actually had to get the part. With that in mind, I went along with it, figuring I'd, in the least, would get cast as an extra in some different scenes or maybe a maid. Tina would probably make sure she absolutely _crushed _all competition; that was fine by me if it meant she took the leading role rather than me.

Irony is the play the school had decided on was _Romeo and Juliet_. It wasn't lost on me, not one bit. I wonder if Chase picked up the hint once I asked for the book, but he never said anything.

I spent a good three hours up later than I should have been on the internet, searching and researching—and flipping through that dang book—trying to grasp the story idea. All my life, I'd only know the outline: Boy and girl fall in love, people hate it, and they both die. End of story.

But, Jesus, did she really have to be _thirteen_? What did Shakespeare have against sixteen through eighteen girls?

Maybe Chase could help me with the story tomorrow—scratch that, I knew he _would_.

Finally, I tossed the book aside and crawled under the covers, regretting my decision of only giving myself five hours of sleep for tonight. I was going to be a bear in the morning.

I fell asleep, picturing angry parents and forbidden romances struggling in vain.

* * *

_September 16__th__ 2013_

Six in the morning? Why was I up so freaking _early?_

Plenty of times I've had to get up at around five so we could get on the road, but this was weekend—I didn't have to go anywhere. Sure, the girls and I all planned to meet at Ashley's to plan for a dramatic finale for our 25th fashion vlog, but that wasn't until well after noon.

What was wrong with me?

I dragged myself downstairs slowly, yawning as I did so. Rem was off somewhere; my spot at the kitchen counter empty of any plates of food or drinks of any kind. I kind of expected that. I scratched my head and poured some milk sloppily into a small glass then took a big gulp. My brain still foggy, I thought back to what Bree had worried over a few weeks ago.

Were we being watched? It would make sense for our "creators"—if we could even call them that now—to watch us for a while after upgrades, and now we did those all in one group. So if Adam, Bree, or Chase got one, so did I. But watching our every move for progress? That just didn't feel right, even if I did know they were very capable of it. But I'd never seen Dad act suspicious around me before on my first day of school; he was always really encouraging about it. Could that too be an act in order to get more information on me, his own daughter?

I shook my head, my crazy hair flying along with it as I tried to push the subject away. That was not something I needed to be thinking about right now. Janelle and Sammie were at Sammie's, busying with the planner, so I couldn't put anything down in it (not that I had a slightest idea of what I would write anyway; I'm just the camera lady).

I drank my milk and sat rather dramatically on the couch. I swore under my breath when milks sloshes over the side, wetting my hand and lap. But I don't care enough to get up to back upstairs—I'm already down here with no place to be. I started to think about the play.

There were plenty of _willing _people—sorry, I mean "actors"—that would love to try out for Romeo and Juliet. I just so happened to not be one of them. Seriously, I would have much rather taken a month detentions than this. What was the point in it, anyway?

Either way, Tina must be thrilled.

At first (before I knew she was the _new girl_) I thought this girl, who just like me had never been at the school before, and me could bond over our experiences with being new and forced to stand out in a crowd. And how exactly we found ways to melt ourselves into the crowd enough to be another bystander. In other words, it would have been a friendship oppertunity I smiply couldn't pass up.

Then Tina showed her true colors—even more true than her little Barbie Doll perfect self from the mall. She was mean, concided in every way, and showed no mercy. She ahd every intention in turing my life into one of the cheesy, same-as-always high school movies that somehow made millions of dollars for being a different version of a story told over and over again.

And the play was giving her the aboslute most productive starting place.

I was so lost in thought I didn't notice Dad sneak up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. I shrieked, the arm holding my glass jumping into the air and splattering the couch with little drops of milk. I hope he was happy; I spilt more than I drank. I was still thirsty.

"Great," I said scornfully, looking at my empty glass that dangled in my hand, nearly clattering to the floor. "We have a wet couch."

I turned to face him—Dad wasn't looking so hot. He hadn't shaved in a while, at least a day or two. He needed a shower and a good 12 hour nap. "Dad," I said seriously, "You look like an ungly raccoon."

It wasn't meant to be harsh and I think he got that. Dad ran a hand through his mess of a hair. I was tempted to shove a comb into his hands and lock him in the bathroom until he came out looking like the neat scientist again. It'd been like this for a while, though, and I guess, temporarily, this was the new normal.

"Here you go," Rem annouced, showing up to thrust a coffee cup into Dad's hand. "Black—just like you ordered."

I pulled a face; I hated black coffee. And before now, I thught Dad did too.

Rem and I watched as Dad climbed the stairs back to his lab.

"What crawled into his system?" I asked.

Rem started to whir away. "Who knows."

* * *

Rachel was in a pissy mood. I don't know if it was her period or just life in general, but God, was she attacking everybody today.

Every idea one of us had for the 25th anniversary show was not good for her. At first I thought that being the min spokesperson was just getting to her head, but when she managed to blow up on three different topics, I decided that, yeah, she was definitely on her period.

Ashley had gotten so fed up with her, she stomped up to her room and hadn't come down since.

Maybe it wasn't the best time to bring up the fact that we hadn't decided on a single idea for the next show. And when everyone left, we still didn't have an idea, even when Bree, Janelle, and I sat adn watched Sammie and Rachel scream back and forth at each other for longer than half an hour. We all agreed Sammie was the loudest.

Tomorrow was going to be hell.

* * *

_September 18th 2013_

My mouth felt like cotton, my hands clammy as I grip the script in my hands. Mission Creek was too cheap to get a real drama teacher, so this year we were tuck with a twentysomething college student too nervous to focus on one thing at a time. I think Lisa was her name, or it was possible Lindy; it started with an _L_.

Lisa/Lindy nervously flutttered around in the front row, pacing and pacing with her bony hands in her thick black mop of hair. It nearly fell to her knees and was always blocking out her face—most of the time you couldn't tell if you were talking to her face or the back of her head.

"Okay, okay, okay..." she kept muttering to herself, picking up her "teacher mandated" copy of the script and rolling one of her hands in the air, but no one could tell who it was meant for. "From the top of page 3?" The command came out like a question, so no one really knew if she meant it or not.

Another fun fact about Mission Creek: all there old, classic plays are re-written to a not-so flatteirng format and dialouge. But whatever, I didn't plan on winning this anyway; why worry?

Everyone, with great reluctance, started to mutter their character's lines. The ones who were waiting for their character to be introduced just stood there awkwardly. I felt bad for them.

"No, no!" Lisa/Lindy cried, sounding like my cousin when she didn't want to watch a horror movie. To put it in easy terms: terrified of sleeping with her closet door closed. "One at a time."

Maybe people would listen better if she spoke up more.

With a nervous, shaky finger she pointed. Straight at me. "You, read your line on page 3."

Oh God. I looked down at my script—even when mordenly written I still hated the words. I mean seriously, what just-barely teenager would date a guy several years older than her? And eighteen-year old at most? The whole concept was ridiculous. Clearing my throat I began.

"This is preposturous!" I cried, feeling a rush of emotion sweep into me unexpectedly. Is that what it felt like when being on stage. "I love him and he loves I; together we shall live in peace—away from all the likes of you."

Lisa/Lindy looked up at me, looking sincerly pleased. "Wonderful!" she yelled with uncharacteristic pep. "Next person, next line."

A guy with utterly long, sandy hair hanging in his face stepped up to be front and center. Probably a drama guy. Not many of those were here, so I doubted there were many at all. "But this is the upmost unlady like act on your part, Juliet. You are shaming this family from it's roots of Montauges fortune. What will your mother have to say about this?"

This wans't even close to the real Romeo and Juliet. None whatsoever.

A mousy girl with a booming squeaking voice cried from behind me, "You'll kill us all with your act of foolishness. A shame it is that you share the family blood. Ridden you it shall be."

Kill me now.

"Ms. Alissa," a voice hollered from my right. Tina stepped up, glaring at me as she did so. (So that was her name—_Alissa_.) "Shouldn't the other girls be able to audition for Juliet too? It's unfair to let..._her _hog all the auditioning time."

Alissa shrunk away from Tina's gaze—I couldn't blame her. "Of—course," she sputtered, looking at me pleadingly. "Let her finish her next few lines and then you may go next...?"

"Tina Walters," Tina finished coldly.

Poor Alissa. So close to peeing her pants and it's onl been a half hour.

* * *

I got to read all the way through page 6—surely Tina was truly pissed that she only got to read two pages instead of the honking three I did. But whatever, she could have her stupid part. Losing it was nothing worth crying about.

I left early because Alissa was obviously done with me until Thursday, where all the "actors" and what parts they would be playing would be revealed. Joy. All that was left was the boy players anyway, and I did not feel like lounging around in the audience while they goofed off. Plenty of other girls did not either and left almost exactly when I did.

Rideless, I swung by my locker to pick up my stuff I left after last period and was on my out when a voiced called out, "Christine? What are you doing here?"

_Callan_.

World, you just couldn't stop at try-outs, could you?

Slapping on a hurting smile, I spun on my heel, forcing out a cheerful, "Hey, Callan. I was just leaving from the auditorium. What are you doing here?"

He completely ignored my question; how rude. "I didn't know you were in to theatre."

"I'm not." The blunt, blankness of my answer must have caught him by surprise from the taken back look on his face, but he didn't say anything.

"Well, I hope you get the part," Callan said before flashing a smile and wave at me before walking out the door.

I watched his retreating back as I muttered under my breath, "Yeah, and I really hope I don't."

* * *

**Meh, this chapter could be better. But I was in a rush to get it to you guys, so ignore all the spelling mistake I know will be there, okay?**

**Reveiw and tell us your thoughts :)**


	6. Chapter 5

**I'm going to try and update this earlier than the last one. This chapter is way out of my comfort zone, so sorry if it sucks.**

* * *

_September 20__th__ 2013_

Chase's Pov

Even people engineered to be the smartest people on Earth can get tired of studying. The activity itself is exhausting, and then you have to take notes, highlight, make sure you have all the right pieces—too much work for even the best of the entire human race.

"Christine," I drawled, resting my head on the back of her shoulder. "We need to stop."

"I thought you liked studying?" she asked. Her head tilted to the side, like she was sizing me up in a way.

I groaned, falling back in my chair; Christine had to adjust due to my movements, balancing her notebook in her lap with a highlighter tucked behind her ear. I smiled, reached a hand up to pull the tap from her hand and twist between my fingers.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a slight laugh, reaching up her own hand to hold it against mine. "I was eventually going to use that you know." Christine leaned down; our breaths mingled.

I leaned up, our lips just about to touch. "Well then maybe"—

We were just about to kiss when something let out a bleat. Christine jumped off my lap to dig into her back pocket and pull out her phone, answering with a simple, cheery, "Hello?" to whoever was on the other end.

I growled, sinking into my seat. Christine either didn't notice or was ignoring me as hopped onto the desk, crossing her legs and swinging her boots. "So what he'd do?" she asked causally, giving a surprised "oh, _really_" to whoever it was. "And why in the middle of the night? With…with a _raccoon_?"

"Oh my God, just hang up the phone?" I cried, pushing up from my chair and stalking and stalking over to her, annoyed.

Christine turned, waving her hand back at my dismissively.

Waving me away.

Oh no.

I narrowed my eyes, hopping onto the desk behind her and pressing my lips to her shoulder before moving up to her neck. It felt good to do this, but unlike myself. It wasn't like any of the times when Spike took over, but it was something—something…good, I guess.

She was sitting in my lap, laughing into her phone. "Chase-ee…stop that…" Christine waved her hands behind her, trying to get me to stop. My lips were crawling up her next to rest on her jaw—but only for a second.

"Put down the phone," I whispered, smirking. I was close enough to hear Ashley talking rapidly. For a quick, concerned moment, I began to worry that she could hear. The minute, I realized I don't care.

"Ash…ley," Christine tried to manage out. Her hand wound to the front of her stomach to be placed on top of mine on her waist. "I'll call you back."

Her phone was tossed somewhere off the table. Without even knowing her reaction, I know Christine is worried about how bad the damage was, but I could tell it was minor.

We were lying side by side on the desk, kissing completely. I was just barely on, my legs stretching and going over the edge. Christine fisted my shirt and pulled me closer. I could practically feel my lips bruising. She grinned against my lips, straddling me as I ran a hand along the small of her back and fingering the hem of her band tee.

"You know we'll have to…have to stop eventually, right?" Christine muttered against my lips, her nose nuzzling against mine. She didn't want to go too far. And I, despite the total bliss spilling into every corner of my being, had to respect that. And I would.

"Yeah." I kissed up her jaw to stop at her ear. "I know." That didn't mean I liked it, but I didn't tell her that.

* * *

"What did you do?"

The worst way to go up for breakfast after having the best make-out session with your girlfriend was to face you sister, no doubt ready to quiz you. And you don't know why.

"What do you want now?" I asked, focusing on organizing my backpack. It was already organized: two binders, three notebooks, and an extra stack of paper tucked between my textbooks all done by size and length. My pencils, along with highlighters and several backup pens, were lined neatly in the front zipper, ready for use. But I organized them again—lining the pencils by shortest and sharpest to tallest and dullest. "I'm kind of busy." I really wasn't, but she didn't need to know that.

Bree crossed her arms, looking Christine over before moving to me, lips in a straight line. "Okay, so being in the school play I can believe," she decided curtly before switching to me curiously. "But, seriously, Chase? Aren't you always rattling off about drama students just stuck-up brats never focused on education? Why would you, of all people, sign up to play Romeo?"

"You auditioned?" Christine asked surprised. I nearly forgot that I kept it a secret from her; too late to remind myself now. "I didn't think you were into that kind of stuff; I was only doing it because I had to."

I wasn't. I still thought that drama students with their overdramatic ways and obsessive paranoia over a part was completely ridiculous and unnecessary compared to studying for things that actually _matter_—like tests and project that are for than half your grade. The only reason I went after that under dramatized part was because Callan was going after it as well. Maybe I wouldn't have been so irritated by it if he hadn't been signing up just to get a chance with Christine—my _girlfriend_, of all the girls he could have. Everyone knew he'd like her since he came back from his summer vacation; he wasn't exactly hiding it.

A part of me was convinced Christine didn't _know _this as well as others did. But all of me couldn't be sure.

"Jesus, what is this? Twenty questions or something?" I asked staring into my bag. I hated whenever Bree snooped in my business. (This unfortunately was every day, all day.) "I tried out for the play—no big deal."

Christine shrugged, giving me a cautious look. "Okay, whatever." She shrugged it off for now, but I knew she wouldn't drop it until she got answers. Just my luck.

But Bree was persistent, like always. "My gut tells me you're lying." She crossed her arms, shifting her weight. "And girlfriends don't like _liars_," she sang to spite me.

"And boyfriends don't like priers," I retorted with an eye roll. Christine laughed, letting out a cute snort.

"Admit it, dude," she said with comforting hand on Bree's shoulder. "He just told you."

One of the perks of being engineered to be the smartest person alive.

* * *

The drama hall is a madhouse. People shoved and pushed and yanked other students out of the way. I stood a few feet away from the crowd, not wanting to be run over like all the other poor people. It would seem like teachers would try and stop the madness—if they cared.

"They act like it's an 80% off shoe sale," Ashley said in dismay. We all turned to stare at her, curious on how she really thought this was what people acted like at a _sale _of all things.

"What?" she cried in defense when noticing our looks. "People tend to get crazy when seeing something so cute be so cheap; it's a womanly science."

"Yeah, okay," Christine agreed sarcastically. She began to roll up her sleeves and took of her bag, handing it to me. "If I don't make it back alive, sorry for missing our date this Saturday."

With a yell, she lunged into the crowd, knocking down three pink and matching girls down in process. After a couple minutes, I started to worry that the crowd had somehow swallowed her alive. Then suddenly, her head—hair a little bit of everywhere—popped up above the crowd.

"I got a copy!" my girlfriend cried in victory, waving a crisp, white paper in the air high above her head with a triumphant smile.

"So did you get the part?" the girls asked excitedly.

Christine adjusted her shirt and looked down at the paper. At first she smiled, but then as she kept reading, she slipped out a prompt, "Oh shit."

"What is it?" I asked, dreading the worst.

My girlfriend looked up at me like a deer caught in headlights, clearing her throat awkwardly. "Please don't freak out…" she began while looking down at the paper again. I was just about to ask what she thought I would blow up about when a sudden, loud and enraged commotion fired up from a corner of the crowd.

"I can't believe this!" Tina screamed, shoving her way between two lanky boys. "Who the hell wrote this shitty thing of a list? This can't be right!" With a dramatic flail of her arms, she stormed down the hall with a pissed off look on her face.

I felt really bad for whoever the drama teacher step-in was this year.

With Christine distracted—like everyone else, watching the diva storm away in a screaming fit—I grabbed the list from her hand, reading the parts and players carefully.

ROMEO….CALLAN DAVIS

(Understudy: Chase Davenport)

JULIET…CHRISTINE GRANT

(Understudy: Tina Walters)

I didn't get much farther than that before my hands went slack. I watched as the paper fluttered and failed to stay in the slight breeze, falling to a rest on the ground.

Callan would be playing Christine's love interest. Her freaking _love interest_.

Was there such a thing as re-auditions? There had to be—there just had to be.

"Remember when I said don't freak out?" Christine reminded in a soft, small voice. "Now would be a great time to take that into consideration."

"I guess I'm just shocked," I managed to get through my grinding teeth. My fists clenched tightly at my sides, my body overcome with the overwhelming urge to hit something over and over again. Like pretty boy's face.

But my being shocked was the understatement of the year. I was more than shocked; I was _infuriated_. Callan always had to have everything, especially Christine. And he knew that this stupid play would be the perfect way to do it. It was just a bonus he'd get to spite me along the way.

Bree furrowed her eyebrows, looking down at my hands. "Sibling conference," she cried suddenly, putting a hand on my chest and pushing me backward until we were out of earshot. "Dude, you're eyes are turning gray, and you look like the hulk after having three coffees. Seriously, you need to chill out."

Like I could chill out knowing some other guy would be kissing my girlfriend over and over again.

* * *

Bree's Pov

I kept watch for Spike coming out all day. I knew he would eventually (that much was obvious), but the trouble was knowing when. If I knew the _when _then the whole thing wouldn't be as much as a problem as it was now. But sadly, Chase's split personality was a bit unpredictable.

Christine seemed pretty wary too. She kept glancing at the jocks and Chase like she expected Callan or Chase to start punching and screaming at each other from across the cafeteria.

Now we were busy with training. Davenport had been working us really hard lately, and I couldn't help but think back to my earlier worries. Something was definitely going on. That much was clear—but what? Nothing changed except for Chase and Christine dating. Could that be it? Does he want to see how his "lab experiments" act when dealing with romantic situations such as dating?

Nothing lately was making sense.

Water bottle in hand, I took a small sip as I watch a sparring match between Adam and Chase. Leo and Christine stood on one side, Davenport and I on the other. Watching them fight was always interesting because you'd never know who'd win. Adam did have strength height on him, but Chase had intelligence, which meant he had an advantage strategy wise.

Leo chanting for Adam, Christine chanting for Chase, and Davenport showing no support for either side, I didn't either. I was stuck wondering how the rest of training was going to go. We'd already been down here for a good hour and probably for another two or three depending on if Tasha let him keep us down here that long or not. Training got boring after a while.

"Pin 'em! Pin 'em to the ground!" Leo hooted, pumping his fist into the air. Christine rolled her eyes and just clapped her hands.

"Go Chase!"

I sighed, leaning back on the desk. I was more tired than normal. I couldn't figure out why. Maybe I'd just been thinking too much about things—the play, Tina, Davenport and his weirdness. I just needed a break.

Christine _volunteered_ me for the play. Sure, it wasn't much. Just checking and double-checking the lights and sound and other stuff like that. But still, like I wanted to do it.

I was so lost in thought that only minutes later Adam was pinned to the mat and Leo was looking at a grinning Chase in defeat. I wasn't surprised.

"So, you were looking pretty lost during the match," Christine noted as she took a swig from her water bottle.

I shrugged. "Yeah," I agreed dully. "Just been thinking a lot lately, I guess."

"Whatever. Do you think he's mad at me?" She asked suddenly, turning to look at her boyfriend from across the room.

"Not you," I comforted with a hand on her shoulder. "But the teacher assistant I wouldn't be so sure about."

Christine sighed, gripping onto her water bottle tightly. "I just hope everything will blow over soon."

* * *

**So, how do you like me throwing in Bree's Pov? Like I said at the beginning of this story, this would be one of the moments I'd rarely use another Pov other than Christine or Chase's.**

**Reviews promote faster updates.**


	7. Chapter 6

**I'm really trying to hammer down the distance between the updates of the chapters. And if you've noticed the A/Ns are a lot shorter just because I've been out of stuff to tell you guys.**

**Since I've been feeling so shitty lately, I apologize if that's how the chapter comes out.**

* * *

_September 21__st__ 2013_

Christine's Pov

I held the script in hand, on stage and ready to go. I don't know what changed, but I was actually starting to warm up to the play—or, more so, the people _in _the play. Some of that were surprisingly not that terrible and stuck-up like I had prepared myself for.

Like the people who play my (or more accurately, _Juliet's _parents) were maybe the closest to me out of everyone, excluding Chase and Bree. Damon (Lord Capulet) and Gemma (Lady Capulet) were probably as close as two people could get. One day after rehearsal when it was raining and I felt like waiting a little to delay getting soaked, I mentioned to Gemma about how touchy-touchy they were. Blushingly, she admitted that, yeah, they were more than besties (i.e. friends with _major_ benefits) but didn't like to use labels. Whatever, they were so into each other whether they admitted it or not.

I guess the others weren't bad either—like Mitchell, who played my (again, Juliet's) cousin, Tybalt. He was your typical child at heart kind of boy, happy about all the fighting scenes he gets to use. Did I mention that our school used light sabers instead of something more practical like, I don't know, plastic swords? They claim even plastic swords are considered weapons, but should light sabers be then by that logic?

And why would our principal be so concerned about violence rule being breached when last year she was practically condoning it with her death spiral smack down or whatever as I've been told? Maybe it was her paycheck time and she was just sucking up.

"You're looking pretty deep," Damon commented, making me jump as he came up from behind me. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Our principal is a nutcase."

He gave me a parental kind of look with a lecturing hand on my shoulder. "Now, now Christina," he warned in a mock-deep tone. "We don't mock the crazy for what they are, only what we should fear them doing in the future."

I flicked his hand off me. "My full name isn't Christina."

"I knew that."

"Whatever."

"I did!" he continued to protest as I flipped through my script. I spent last night touching up my highlighting and putting sticky notes in my kissy-kissy scenes. And boy was there quite a few of them.

And what was with this dude and young, gross romances? I mean this chick was, what, thirteen while this guy was seventeen, eighteen? What the hell? Shakespeare was maybe the reason to inspire all the raping in this century—promoting all the "dating people five or six years younger than you" crap. But, whatever, that's just my opinion.

Alissa grew a spine this week. Suddenly she wasn't taking Tina's Little Miss Brat attitude anymore, startling pretty much everyone. Especially Tina. Or maybe it was just all the understudies because Alissa had been strongly snappy to Ronny, the scrawny understudy for Damon.

I was just the person she loved to pick on the most. Maybe she meant well and really thought I was the best to do the examples for the acting exercises she had us warm up with, but she always kept me front and center each morning for every new activity we did. And I was (sort of) flattered and all, but being the center of attention was a bit unnerving, for the lack of better word.

So I decided to confront her about it.

We were just finished with the final scene of the entire play (yeah, rehearsing the death scene after the opening scene made no sense to me, but no one listened to my opinion—not that I told anybody except when I complained to Bree about it). Alissa had been pretty moody through everything, claiming Callan had been holding the cup wrong. (How the hell can you hold a _cup_ wrong?

"Alissa, can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked timidly. The script suddenly felt a little too heavy in my hands.

She smiled at me for once today—instead of that creepy, unreadable smirk she had been shooting off at everything today when they didn't deserve a scowl—and even called me my name instead of "female actor number one."

That was what I would call improvement.

"Yes, Christine?"

Oh, great. While I was determined to get some answers, I really hadn't expected for her to actually _listen _to me. I figured Alissa would be like all the other teachers in this school and brush me off, insisting she'll get back to me later and never do.

Otherwise, I didn't plan it out this far.

"I just had a question about some of the…um, acting exercises you have us do?" I asked, words coming out a question as I checked over how they sounded. Not as stupid as I thought they would.

"Yes…?" she prompted. Maybe it was just my imagination or the poor lighting of auditorium, but that unsure twinkle came back if only for a second. That meant she found likeable at least _somewhat_.

I stared down at the script in my hands. "Well, it's just that I feel like you've been centering me out a lot for most of them, and I was really just wondering—you know—why?"

Alissa was looking me over from head to toe; I felt the burning line of her eyes as they sized me up. I never liked inspections. Then, she started to laugh.

Wait, _what?_

Well that's just flipping fantastic. She's laughing at me and I don't even get what the hell was so funny in the first place.

"Oh." Alissa sobered pretty well, but still was giving me a pretty funny looking smile. "Christine, I know you better than you may think. You're new to acting; you're not used to being front and center on stage, having a lead role, and having the pressure of putting on a perfect performance…"

Well, gee. This pep-talk was helping _nothing _but to diminish my self-confidence, thanks.

"…And my job as a step-in drama teacher assistant is to help the blossoming actors, experienced or not. And you, Christine, are playing the lead role. Therefore, the audience is going to base the whole play off your performance—you are the face of the play."

_God_.

"But if you knew I would be so inexperienced, then why even give me a major role in the first place?" I asked, still not getting her point.

Alissa shrugged as if she didn't know, but her still-funny looking smile tipped me otherwise. "Potential," is what she left me with.

Freaking _potential _my ass.

But before I could share my thoughts on what she preached Alissa smirked that weird smirk at me again before gathering up her bag and leaving, swiftly cutting off our conversation.

Gee, thanks to you to.

I sighed, hiking my bag further up my shoulder and tucking my script into the front pocket before bounding up the stage steps and starting a search for Bree. We were going to walk home together because she needed my opinion on something involving her love life or lack of. That is, until I saw Barbie herself cornering my _boyfriend_.

What was she doing?

My anger bubbled, my fists gripping my script so hard I thought it would rip. Tina really needed to learn how to stay away from Chase before I did something that would land her needing an understudy.

"Com'n, Chase," she purred, running a hand down the length of his arm, lips pursed in a pout. "Do you really think it is fair for them to share the entire spotlight? I think you and me would be much better for the part, don't you think?"

Oh my god. Is she serious? This was what it was all about, me having the part and her throwing one of her diva fits because of it? Ridiculous.

"Listen, Tina." Chase used his free hand to pull - more like pry - her claws off his arm. "I'm sure that somewhere deep, deep, deep down you somehow have at least some heart, no matter how tiny, but I'm not going to sabotage my girlfriend. The play is nearly in a month anyway. I'm walking away now."

"Hah," Gemma said after creeping up behind me and nearly making my heart bust free from my chest. "Could she be anymore slutty? Seriously, it's like she's just begging to be called a whore."

Damon slipped up from behind her, making a noise of agreement from the back of his throat. "Good thing you're dating maybe one of the only trustable men in this school, Chris."

It was comments like that that made me think the main reason Gemma and him weren't together was that he was gay. But I've grown used to them by now so I just waved it off...for now.

"Calling her a whore won't do anything like slapping her would." I raised my hand to prove my point, but Gemma saw and slammed it back to my side.

"As much as we all would love to see Barbie have a swollen cheek and black eye, do you really need Principal Sports Bra coming after you again?"

I hated when she was right. When was kind of bad because she was never wrong—ever.

"Fine." But at least I knew when to admit defeat.

* * *

I told Bree what happened on the walk home. She was gaping and glaring down at the sidewalk once I finished, maybe exaggerating Tina's ways if only a _little_. But I pretty much had it down to what it was.

"Well," she drawled slowly, looking up at me. We were already at the Davenport residence and I felt bad for hogging all the time on the walk home because she never got a chance to tell me what she needed to say, Bree seemed to have forgotten all about that as she said, "It's not like we weren't expecting her to do something like that. The play and the jealously of them both being understudy is just giving all the perfect opportunities."

She left with that, waving goodbye before rushing up their huge, mile-long driveway to leave me stand there. I ran a hand through my hair and jogged down the street.

Rem was busy upstairs when I walked through the door, calling out, "There's a message for you on the machine!" before going back to what I guessed was dusting or using the broom on a couple unused rooms.

The machine? Rarely anybody called us on our home phone anymore since Dad got his own phone (in case he didn't have his pager, he'd told me when I asked—I didn't bother to tell him no one used a _pager _anymore) last year. I shrugged and threw my backpack onto the couch, hopping onto the counter and pressing the button as a tiny red one blinked up at me from the black screen.

When I heard his voice, I froze.

"Hey, Christine. I don't know if you're getting this because you guys rarely ever use your home phone but you weren't answering, so, uh…yeah. I just wanted to say that if you're made about last semester, then fine. But did you tell him? That's all I wanted to know. Yeah—call me back whenever you get this."

The awkward message was ended with a click.

Maybe he'd thought we were safe (and it was very possible I was blowing this way out of proportion like always), but it under absolutely no circumstances was he able to bring up the Secret any way but face to face. It was an unspoken rule since the Secret became a_ secret_. My Dad may not seem like it, but he was one to dig his nose deep into something; he was where I got it from. If he thought something wasn't right, he'd go to extreme measures to find out why. It was part of the scientist in him. I bet Dad was crazy enough to tap into his own home phone to find out what was up.

Well, this wasn't good. If I ignored this, I was only stalling the inevitable, and that would help nothing. So I had to face the music.

Swallowing my pride, I dug my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my contacts, my breathing hitching when I pressed on his name.

"Hey," I managed to greet, forcing a smile even though he couldn't see me. "Wanna come over?"

It took him ten minutes. Ten minutes before he was knocking on my door and Hunter was standing on my doorstep. In a way, it was kind of nice to see him. But the awkwardness was killing the kind of-niceness of it.

"I'm in a play," I blurted out. It was sudden and unexpected but helped fill the silence.

Hunter's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. For the years we've known each other, he'd always been the performer out of the two of us. "Oh, really?" he said, his tone as unreadable as his face.

"Yeah, Romeo and Juliet."

"And what are you, a maid or something?"

Offended, I crossed my arms and said a bit louder than necessary, "For your information, I happen to be playing Juliet—_the lead_."

"And lemme guess, your Prince Charming is the lead," Hunter grumbled, stepping into the house more and letting me slam the door behind him with a loud, echoing bang.

I was really starting to get fed up with his attitude. I had half the mind to kick him out. "Actually, no. Callan is playing Romeo."

"The athlete? Unlikely."

I glared at him as we both sat down on the couch. "For someone who wanted to be here so bad you sure are being a jerk."

"Does he kiss better than me?'

I jumped startled at the question and instinctively scooted closer to the other side of the couch. "What?"

"Does he kiss better than me?" Hunter persisted, not picking up that I wanted _distance _between us.

"Who?"

"Either of them?"

I started to fidget with hem of my shirt, unsure of how to answer the question without really answering it. "Why do want to know anyway?" I suddenly asked, realizing a friend wouldn't care about that kind of thing. "And it's not like I remember anyway."

"So maybe I just need to remind you." Hunter was practically on top of me, leaving me to slouch beneath while he breathed down my neck. "And it's not like you're cheating or anything, you're just doing a test, comparing two different things."

Really it was cheating and I was about to point that out when he grabbed me by the back of my neck and smashed his lips onto mine. I squirmed, our lips feeling weird against one another's—too wrong. I tried to push him away before I started kissing back.

I didn't mean to, but I began to get into, like I was kissing Chase. That's only what made it bearable. That I was kissing my boyfriend, Chase.

That is until Dad decided to walk into the room. "Hey, do you just want Chinese take-out or—whoa! Am I interrupting something?"

My eyes sprung open and I jumped from my seat on the couch, pushing Hunter away with both my hands. I was breathing heavy, panting as I shook my head at my father and ran my hand through my hands several times.

"I just needed some help with some scenes in the play," I fibbed weakly, hoping Dad wouldn't notice that there weren't any scripts out or anything of the sorts.

"Okay." Dad just nodded and shrugged it off, truly looking horrible. But he at least got changed out of his bathrobe and into some sweat a shirt-that was an improvement.

"So, Chinese take-out?"

* * *

**This chapter was so crappy and lame for taking forever to write. At first I thought I had it nailed and everything and that I'd get it done in a few days, holidays or not. But it ended up taking weeks. That's pretty sad once you think about it.**


	8. Chapter 7

**Hey guys. I usually respond to your reviews individually like in a PM or something, but most of the reviews were pretty much the same, so I'll just answer them here.**

**For those of you concerned about the cussing in the story—they're teenagers. There will be some swearing involved to make it as realistic as a sci/fi show can get. And half of the time they do, they are thinking it because of how I write in POVs. So because of the way you're reading it, it just doesn't look like that.**

**And there will be a couple more…intense moments like you want between Christine and Chase, but remember, I can only do so much to keep it at its appropriate T rating because it's outside my limits to write anything **_**higher **_**than a T rating. And Chase is like my first time doing a legit male POV, so please be easy on me. I'm a girl, I really don't know how they think.**

**Before I forget, LL will have 30 or 31 chapters depending on the layout of the plot and how much is written and revealed in every chapter. LL might end from around middle of February to the early beginning of March at the latest.**

**So everything you guys want can/could be coming in later chapters because there are a lot of them.**

**Hope that cleared up some things for you!**

_September 30__th__ 2013_

Chase's Pov

I sat at the counter, chair positioned so I sat with a view of the living room. Davenport and Tasha had taken Leo out to try and fix his hamster's wheel. (How had he managed to do that?) Adam was in the lab and Bree was lying on the couch with a huge comforter around her, reading _Struck By Lightning_.

"You know that gay guy from Glee?" Bree called out from her spot. "You know the one who plays Kurt?"

"Are you sure the actor is gay?"

"I don't know, but he wrote this book; I think you'd like it."

This was nothing new. Reading books and giving reviews about to each other was normal between Bree and me because we'd grown up having no one else to tell the book to. (I mean really—when did Adam read and when did Davenport get over his ego to listen long enough?)

I look down at the strings of my guitar, plucking as I say, "Oh really?"

Bree hummed back a_ yes_ in reply, flipping the page as I started the opening to The A Team by Ed Sheeran. I've always thought to ask her how she could read while I played, but never did in case she'd thought to ask me to stop.

I was at the second verse when the door slammed open and shut loudly.

"Hey Christine," Bree greeted my girlfriend casually.

"How can you do that?" Christine asked in shock instead of saying another greeting back.

I looked up to see what she was talking about. She kept gesturing between me playing and Bree reading, looking puzzled as she did so.

Bree shrugged. "You mean the reading? I've grown up with noise and reading in the same sentence—I've learned to live with it."

Finishing up, I set my guitar down carefully and grinned at Christine, kissing her jaw as I wrapped my arms around her waist. She laughed and leaned into me. "Chris, as much as I love you, why are you here on a Sunday?"

"You didn't hear?" my girlfriend pulled back to face me surprised. "There's an emergency meeting because Alissa's leaving tomorrow for a week to a family wedding. And there won't be a substitute until at least Thursday."

"Do we need to dress up? And keep in mind, by we I mean me." Bree dog-eared her page and tossed off her blanket. Like me, she was in sweats but wearing a Detroit Tigers sweatshirt. How'd she hear about them, much less pay attention to baseball? "I really don't feel like changing."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, because you really can't afford to lose those valuable three seconds of your life."

She glared at me and stuck her tongue out. If I was any less mature I'd do it back at her.

That's what I did.

Christine rolled her eyes as we shoved our shoes on and followed her out the door. "Must you two always bicker? I swear, you guys fight like senior citizens over the last pudding cup?"

Bree paused mid-step. "How would you know that?"

"Television."

That was never _not _the answer nowadays.

Christine and I spent the walk arguing over which teacher was the meanest and most like their even crankier substitute. By the time we got there, we tied at Mr. Freeman, the sour-faced sub for journalism teacher, Ms. Bakermen.

Bree shut her book—had she been reading all this time? How did she make it without crashing into anything? And how did I now notice? "How long is this going to take?" she whined while stomping her foot. Adam may have been the dumber one, but when it came to complaining about something, Bree beat him by a landslide. "I'm at really good part in my book!"

"That's what you always say when you have to stop reading."

"Chase, shut up."

"Not again!" Christine grabbed our arms and pulled us to the auditorium, where the rest of the cast (understudies like me included) were sitting in a big circle around the stage, a lady in the middle of the ring of students; it wouldn't have rang as many bells if the woman had been wasn't so…unexpected?

The school was cheap enough to use all the old subs, elderly and middle-aged cranky people who were charging themselves on coffee just to scream at us. Never the new, fresh out of community college teachers like this one seemed to be.

He was your classic slicked back, shiny loafers and all pearly whites as he stood in a charcoal suit with a very unflattering banana colored tie.

"Ah! Welcome, welcome!" And god did his voice carry. It boomed to us, a fairly long distance away from the stage—at least twenty rows filling that distance. "Come in, come in. Better late than never."

I would hate to wake up to that peppy attitude if he was a regular school teacher. We threw our sweatshirts and things onto some chairs in the third row before bounding up the stage steps and worming our way into the circle. My eye nearly started to twitch when seeing that boy toy smile Callan shot over at my girlfriend. I hated to have her sound like property, but we were ten months strong; I really wanted to make it past that one year mark.

I saw a few girls giggling like demented maniacs and pointing and whispering about the substitute teacher; oh please. Like they could be any _more_ obvious.

Mr. Johnny Handsome clapped his hands and rubbed them together. I leaned back on my hands. "I know you all heard about how Ms. Alissa's out of state for a family funeral." He sighed and let out a loud, unnecessary "Tragic!"

"I thought it was a family _wedding_," Christine interjected with furrowed eyebrows. Her arms came around to hug her knees as she sat up. Even she could make sweats and a Marilyn Monroe T-shirt look absolutely gorgeous.

Johnny Handsome shrugged. "Might have been. I didn't have my reading glasses on when I read the e-mail."

Give me a break—now he was just trying to get all the girls to swoon. I was not going to be able to up with this for a two hour practice.

"Anyway," he continued with a yank upwards of his pants. "Today we are going to focus on partners. You all are equal—you all are important."

Okay, so now he was a motivational speaker?

"Everyone will have a scene together at some point." Lies. Did he even read over the script? Just a little bit? "So in order to act together, you need to work together. I'm going to pair you off in to groups of two and have you rotate every half hour. First we're going to start with the main roles and escalate from there."

Despite how wrong this guy was in detail wise, his logic kind of made sense.

The first grouping was fairly okay. Christine was paired with Gemma and they practically knew everything already so all they did was stretch at the edge of the stage and talk about how nervous they were for the play. (I can only be so specific on the topic of their conversation because I admittedly listened in.) Bree was paired with Damon, even though she wasn't even in the play—only backstage. But she didn't look too keen on correcting Johnny Handsome any time soon. And you can just imagine my joy at seeing Callan and Tina paired together. It was a very funny sight, seeing him squirm at being so close to a dive nearly half his size. I was with a mousy, talkative girl who played Rosaline. All I had to do was smile and nod because she wouldn't let you get a word in edgewise. I felt kind of bad for not knowing her name—she might've even told me it at some point but the girl talked so fast I gave up on trying to make out what the words were.

When we had to part (thankfully, I must say) for the next rotation, I was paired with a shy, jumpy girl named Lacey. She was stereotypical for a nerdy student—nervous looking, checking and double-checking her script even when it wasn't needed, focused on work all the time. And even I thought _I_ was bad.

"I play Nurse," she stated simply. "You are an understudy."

"Gee, I didn't know."

"Your sarcasm is noted." Lacey tucked a tuft of caramel hair behind her ear. "Lucky for you, I've grown up with it so I'll ignore it." She looked around the stage, eyes picking apart one sight to the next. Then she raised her thin arm to point across the stage and say normally, "You're worried about her, aren't you?"

I whipped my head to see she was talking about Christine, who threw her head back and laughed at something, Max, the class clown actor who played Count Paris, said. Technically, Lacey was right, but I wasn't worried about her _at the moment_. If she ever was paired Mr. Popular over there with Gemma, I would explode.

"Are you always pointing out the obvious?" I asked.

Lacey shrugged. "I'm an observer; sometimes people need a little bit of the obvious."

"Whose quote is that?"

"My own."

Maybe being paired with her wasn't as bad as I was exaggerating it to be.

We sat down on the stage and flipped to act two, scene four, where Nurse is seen by Juliet to find Romeo. (I was still peeved about being an understudy, even though I wasn't the best actor ever, but neither was Callan. He was just trying to pick a fight with me and it was working.)

"She wants to do it." Lacey—Nurse, whatever I'm supposed to call her. "Juliet needs to marry you."

"She has Count Paris," I said dejectedly. "A man buried deep in his wealth. Why would she ever pick me?"

"She doesn't need wealth. She needs—wants—what is real. You two are in love." Lacey's voice dropped low and she looked at me through her hanging bangs. "Till death do you part."

"Till death do us part…" I whispered, not even needing look down at my script. I memorized the entire thing the second night I had gotten it. I was just using it as a prop of sorts.

Lacey smiled a corky smile at me before standing and stretching. Johnny Handsome was standing in front of the stage, a whistle lodge halfway to his mouth.

"Time to switch!" Jesus, did he really need to blow that all the time? He was a step-in drama teacher, not a full-time coach.

I sighed and grabbed my switch before Damon stepped in front of me. "Hello, Romeo. How are you and your Juliet doing?" He asked with a smirk.

"Shouldn't Christine have told you this already?" I said with a look. I trusted my girlfriend, but knew for sure that even she gossiped (if you could call it that) about me at times. The people she gossiped to happened to be Gemma and Damon. And I really can't believe I bothered to remember all this stuff when Rachel and Bree were pestering me about it.

Damon shrugged. "Point taken, but she's a woman. Women naturally twist their opinions differently than the males." I gave his guy a once over. From a distance he seemed alright, but up close and when you really got him talking, he made you wonder. "But what's your opinion?"

"That Pretty Boy only joined the play to get close to my girlfriend," I replied instantly, snapping my head towards Callan who Lacey was now paired with. I couldn't help but admit at being impressed on how she wasn't putty around him like all the other girls (excluding Christine and Rachel). Instead she just nodded and crisply flipped through her script. It was, like I said, impressive.

Damon _tsked_ and shook his finger in my face, like I was child. He dropped his script, it the least of his concern, and continued to shake his head at me. "Poor, poor, naïve Chase. Christine isn't concerned about kissing him, if that's what you're getting at. She really doesn't care."

"And why doesn't she care?"

"Because she thinks you don't care. You see"—he clapped a hand on my shoulder—"the girlfriends think that if the boyfriend doesn't care, they don't have to care."

"But I do care," I pointed out, trying to poke holes into what he said.

"So?" Damon continued. "Dude,_ she_ doesn't know that and probably doesn't want to know that. Girlfriends find the relationship much less stressful when the boy blows everything out of proportion. But, unfortunately for them, we have a way of doing that."

"D, quit feeding that boy nonsense!" Gemma called from across the room, making several people laugh. Damon bowed before turning to me.

"You see?"

"Not really." He was about to say more when Johnny Handsome's whistle went off. Damon snapped his fingers and was about to leave when he turned to me.

"We'll finish this later."

I nodded and waved him off, but made a mental note to stay away from him, even if that meant taking extreme measures to avoid him.

And guess who my new partner was?

"You're going to be so pissed," Bree stated when stepping front of me.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Why?"

She looked a little pitiful when she said, "Just don't turn around."

Because she told me not to, I had to.

God did I not like what I saw.

Callan and Christine—paired _together_. And she was_ laughing. _They were so close it made my fists tighten and blood boil.

"Chill," warned Bree, grabbing my wrist and pulling me backwards. I was so focused on my anger I hadn't realized I'd already taken a handful of steps forward. "Freaking out and yelling at him won't do anything."

"Then I'm out of here." I wrenched my arm from her grip and stormed off stage to grab my stuff from the seat it was thrown across and marched straight out of the auditorium. I was barely outside the school doors and past the flagpole when I was stopped.

"Chase! Where are you going?"

I turned to face Christine. She'd thrown her sweatshirt back on to run after me. "What going on? Why are you freaking out all of a sudden?"

I tried to dodge all her question as quickly as I could. "I just needed to think for a while. I think I'm going to head home early."

"Is this about Callan and me?"

My girlfriend was too smart for her own good.

"I just need to…think for a while. Alone."

"But answer my question," Christine demanded, twisting my arm so that I spun to face her. She looked stern, but I didn't care.

I had enough of putting up an emotional shield. "Yeah, maybe it was about Callan. So what? I'm heading home."

I yanked my arm back and started to angrily jog away from her, but not faraway enough to block out her. "We're talking about this later, whether you like it or not, Chase!"

Third Person's Pov

Christine gathered the rest of her things to slump home, confused. She thought everything had been settled that summer, left behind for a happier, brighter future with just her and Chase. It didn't matter that Callan existed, that the new school year would without a doubt be much more difficult than the last; they were supposed to be handle it.

"Dad? Rem? I'm home." Christine threw her stuff onto the couch and sighed, retreating up to her room. She flopped onto the bed to glare up at her ceiling stiffly.

Why was everything so confusing?

Was Chase really going to wreck everything they worked so hard for just over a stupid little play?

Meanwhile, unaware to his daughter, Allan Grant stood, robe, slippers and all, in front of the back of his closet. This was a form of torture. He could walk away now and forget all its contents. But no, the very thought brought upon him an even worse pain.

He had to face his fears.

Placing his sickly looking hand on the pad, the slight tingle of movement waved over his screen before flashing an approving green, metal smoothly sliding away from the wall long enough to let him duck inside.

The walls sleek and gray are covered in snippets of his weighing past. Pictures and tickets snubs, pamphlets and more donned the walls. Long, thin candles lay abandon on the floor, next to their matches. Frames of all kinds—everything from the most expensive metal to the cheapest plastic and Popsicle sticks—let her happy dancing eyes burn straight into his sad, sunken ones.

Allan was her disappointment. He knew it, and wherever she was, she knew it too.

"She's becoming more and more like you every day." Allan chuckled darkly, sinking to the knees of pajama pants to shakily grip his favorite picture of her in his hands. He felt so unworthy. "Even in a play now—lead role, just like you."

It was candid. Maria looked on mournfully, hair sadly cascading down her shoulders in a waterfall and her hands fist her dress in anxiety. She was an image of pure perfection on that stage; the whole audience knew.

That thing of flawed masses just mere months ago that he saw? Impossible; it wasn't her. He was positive.

Guilt gripped and twisted his knotty stomach as he shook.

Maybe they weren't meant to have a happy ending after all.

**Kind of a downer of an ending, but this was like, really, really long. A thousand words longer than a normal chapter, so I hope you're happy.**

**But I blame the long A/N at the top, and everything I had to say was in that, so yeah. Review and tell us what you think :D**


	9. Chapter 8

**The next couple weeks may be some slower updates, but I'll try my best.**

**I loved hearing about how you guys loved the Allan angst. I can assure you there will be more of it in upcoming chapters.**

**And yeah, let me just remind ya'll there will be more chapters like the last one, a different POV other than Chase or Christine's. Just a little reminder.**

* * *

_October 4__th__ 2013_

Christine's Pov

I peeled my orange, sticking a juicy piece of fruit into my mouth. Today lunch was slower, a bit more sluggish than normally. Maybe it was the absence of at least half our group; Rachel and Sammie were in lunch detention because, god forbid, they asked to leave the room because it was too loud.

There sub for History is way too strict.

Or maybe it was because of Chase and how he was across the table, avoiding making solid eye contact with me instead of right by my side, kissing my neck like usual.

I didn't know how much longer I could put up with his strange attitudes. I mean, really. If he kept up the sudden mood swings much longer, I'd be able to call him worse than Rachel—something you _definitely _didn't want to be.

In a way, it was like we were both trying to wear the pants of the relationship at the same time—in the end, all we get is dresses.

I was going to get to the bottom of this.

Finishing off the last of orange and gulping down the rest of Coke with determination, I get up from my seat; fix my shorts and leggings, before walking over to my boyfriend. He sensed me coming toward him, but did a shockingly good job at hiding it. Didn't move a muscle. I have to admit I found that just a little bit impressive.

But it wouldn't work—not today.

"You, mister, are coming with me," I announced firmly, although authority had never been my forte. I'd been planning on the one with all the heavy lifting of getting Chase to agree to go anywhere with me, so imagine my surprise when he's the one dragging _me _out into the hallway.

"Okay, are you finally going to tell what's been nesting in your boxers the whole weekend or what?" I crossed my arms and stare him down. I realized that, yeah, I sounded a bit like a demanding brat, but no girlfriend liked when her boyfriend kept things from her. This was the consequences.

He could tell I was mad but didn't let his look at me—_to _me I should say—waver. "It's about Callan."

I knew it; ever since he'd stormed out of the auditorium so quickly on our last buddy round, I knew it had something to do with Callan. And I'm not an idiot - I saw all the staring contests going on between those to. But me being the naive person I am, thought it was just a little closing jealously, but would bubble down to nothing.

How wrong I was.

"What about him?" I asked, sounding a bit defensive to myself. I inwardly groaned and hoped Chase wouldn't notice and turn it into something bigger than it was. With Callan being my leading man in this stupid play (you know, I'm starting to think I wouldn't be as stressed as I was if the play just use all its scrap money for the art room instead of funding for that stupid play), it was maybe a bit of a given that I was defending him. Just like I would if I were to have this conversation about Chase. It was in my nature by default.

Sure we'd have to share a couple kisses now and then, but that totally wasn't my fault. I'd gone to Alissa a handful of times about the awkwardness kissing someone other than my boyfriend would cause, but she didn't see the importance of the topic. I just had to live with it; just like Chase had to.

My only concern was his jealousy convincing him to do something way worse than me simply pecking another guy's lips with absolutely no feeling behind it. But that'd be ridiculous, wouldn't it?

Of course it would.

"If this is about the play, I already told you I tried to wiggle my way out of it or couldn't," I stated. It was true—we had breached to topic of Alissa's stubbornness a couple times, but only briefly before continuing in conversation. "She's not going to change her mind."

Chase sighed, looking tired and raggedly good (damn him being able to do that to me) as he ran a hand through his hair. "This isn't about the play," he said. "Do ever notice how Callan…acts?"

While I'd been expecting the question, I'd been expecting it in a lot more of an angry fashion with plenty of shouting and tomato faces. But apparently, he was as tired of this as I was.

It felt good to know that we were on the same page again.

At least, in some way.

I let out a relieved breath I didn't know I had been holding. This wasn't what I was thinking of our little meeting in the hallway going, but I could deal with this too.

"I think he's fine," I replied, hands being shoved deep into my pockets. "Like I said, last year is in the past, Chase."

He sighed again—he was doing that too much for my liking. Out of discomfort, I let my nose scrunch up but tried to hide it. Doing that felt like an awkward itch I couldn't quite get. The feeling annoyed me to no end.

"Not what I meant," I heard him mumble and frowned in spite of myself. But Chase's darkened face seemed to wipe away as quickly as he realized I was able to hear him. "Listen, I'll meet at play practice, alright?"

I was about to object to his sudden leaving when he pulled me hard against his chest, our lips smashing together quick and hungrily before he pulled away, shot me a tiny, almost strained smile before hurrying off.

In other cases, I might've run after him to clear up this sudden weird behavior.

But damn my boyfriend and his stupid seductive lips paralyzing me to no end.

* * *

_October 8__th__ 2013_

Like I may have mentioned before, my boyfriend's mood swings were switching up astoundingly.

Because of last week, I tried to let Chase have his space except for the most important of emergencies (which is the serious code for major homework crash and burnage). Instead I relied on Bree. But for being the sister, she wasn't much help. For the life of me, she wouldn't get her head of that book for two seconds; it was shocking she even remembered to _breathe_.

"Sorry," she'd apologized Sunday night. "Once I start reading a good book, I'm gone for weeks at a time."

That would explain why she growled at anyone who wanted her attention on the car ride to Disney World. Man, was she obsessed with that Maximum Ride book.

(She managed to read the entire series in a _week_—just a little fun fact. I didn't know her super speed worked with reading, or maybe she was just really hooked; like I know.)

But Monday, Chase couldn't stop smiling. Between classes and at lunch, before _and _after school, he wouldn't let his lips leave mine. And while I appreciate the fact he found making out with me amazing and all, a girl had to breathe at some point.

It was after school at a shortened rehearsal, the sets for all the major scenes pretty much done and working, that I got a little suspicious. Earlier that day I'd ask Rachel her point of view from all this—leaving out the part of him PMSing more that she does, obviously—and something she said stunned me in the slightest.

"Girls act differently for attention, so why can't boys?"

It was then that I had asked her to clarify, and she went into kindergarten teacher mode, the same tone she used on Adam when explaining something she knew he wouldn't get. I'd felt offended, but kept my mouth shut as she continued on.

"Chase is feeling abandon, replaced by Callan, who is playing you leading man. And seriously, let's be real here for a moment—what boyfriend wouldn't be jealous of a blond Aussie jock with amazing abs?"

Needless to say, Rachel wasn't that big of a help.

I tried to shake these thoughts away. Dwelling over that wasn't going to solve anything.

The balcony stairs were really just a ladder taken from the janitor's closet down the hall, painted to look fancy. I didn't think it was such a good idea to climb it when the paint was only partially dried; my sneakers required a little extra effort upon getting stuck in a small string of paint. But I wasn't about to complain—the last thing I needed was someone biting my head off.

Once reaching the top, I was wary about the height. I wasn't afraid of heights, but I didn't particularly _like _being up high either.

From up high, I could see everything—even a couple yards into both wings. Bree was in the west wing, clipboard in hand as she looked perplexedly at one of the tech nerds holding a bunch of wires.

All the actors and understudies were on or in the audience (mostly the understudies). Stray scripts lay everywhere, Alissa busy with a group of couples—and, surprisingly, a couple ecstatic looking boys holding bundles of fabric—doing a couple of stressed gestures before shooing them off towards the Home EC classroom. They must be the designers.

Gripping the splintery railing, I looked down to the platform. I heard from a couple people talking about it that it hadn't been used for a good handful of years; that was just lovely.

Callan was almost directly below, flipping briefly through the middle of his script. "It is the east and Juliet is the sun!" he cried, hands sweeping up high above his head. I couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous he looked, with his faux serious face, pursed and snotty lips. It was quite the sight.

It's such a shame that even that had a way of dampening Chase's mood. I didn't mean to do so, but looking over from my spot high above the stage, catching the wary glances from Bree that were obviously signaled to Chase, and his shaking fists and fuming eyes proved I did so.

I hoped that it wouldn't affect the rehearsal.

* * *

Fortunately it didn't. But he avoided walking with Bree and I on the way home, several yards ahead of us and moving faster than us. I'd deal with him tomorrow—try to confront his weird, out of whack mood swings once and for all.

When I got home, everything was in its natural order of settling silence. Dad was, surprisingly, sort of dressed and sitting at the table, nursing what I could tell was a cold cup of coffee (lukewarm at best). He could've been sitting like that for hours. He at least ditched his bathrobe for a pair of grass stained pants and a brick red shirt with a suspicious yellow stain on the collar.

When I walked closer to him, it was evident that he needed a good three hour shower; I envied Rem for her not having a sense of smell.

"Hey, Dad," I greeted with a generous smile, wanting to drop off my thing upstairs before attempting to not burn a decent dinner; maybe we could just have cereal or toast. It was hard to mess up toast. "Looking"—I tapped, my foot as I looked for the proper word—"how you doing?"

Dad looked up from his coffee, holding up his half empty cup like I was just now seeing it. He needed a shave, too. "There's a pot of coffee on the counter," he said.

Dad must've been really out of it today, because he never let me have real coffee—and he knew I thought the way he drank it was gross; just black. So disgusting, how could he handle the horrid taste?

"I think I'll pass." I waved off his offer and went upstairs, carefully putting my stuff away this time; I felt like a change for once. I left my script out and tossed it on my bed for a little more studying later. Sometimes I liked to compare it to the original and just laugh at how atrocious it was. I might have mentioned it to Dad once or twice, but he was probably too out of it to listen.

He was starting to worry me. Don't get me wrong, I've been worried all along, but it's been nearly a month. This little act without reason unexplained was getting a bit ridiculous and old to me. It was a real problem—that much I could see—but I wasn't going to spend New Year's with this act hanging over the whole house and depressing everyone's moods.

Rem gave me a look once I came out of my room. I hadn't said anything to her yet when I came from school, but she knew me well enough to know I had something planned, even if she didn't know what it was.

"Just make sure you don't make a huge mess," is all she would give before whirring off towards the plants.

I sighed and bounded down the stairs.

"Why don't you date yet?" The question caught him off guard, looking up so fast from his coffee that his hands shook and several drops of dark liquid dotted the counter.

"Excuse me?"

I shrugged, grabbing the rag that was slung over the edge of the kitchen sink. I wrung it out and wiped at the coffee dots on the counter. "Why haven't you had a girlfriend?"

"The same reason you didn't have a boyfriend until now," Dad said.

"Grandma gave you an age limit?"

"Of sorts." I'd give her a call later tonight to find that he wasn't lying. "And you have to actually like someone to date them, Christine."

I knew that, but bit my tongue. "So, get back into the game. I hear there are some truly productive matchmaker sites out there that are just calling your name."

Dad let out a weak, strained chuckle. I appreciated his efforts, but pitied them all the same. "Nice try, kid. But it's a little too late for me."

He walked off, leaving me to sit and think. He was only thirty-five. Sure, he was middle-aged, but some middle-aged _lady _could find that appealing. Or, a college student.

I was getting desperate.

* * *

**This a late update, but I've been busy all week with my birthday and this damn cough that I hope leaves soon. **

**I deleted the covers I had up briefly for FL and LL because they were truly terrible so I am going to work on some new ones and have them up sometimes soon, hopefully.**

**The next update will probably be a week's wait, but I think you guys can handle it.**

**In other news, a new iCarly story (Seddie) by me will be up tomorrow night and the updates will be fast. It's my first iCarly story so go easy on me if you read it after I have it published.**


	10. Chapter 9

_October 11__th__ 2013_

Chase's Pov

I couldn't explain my moods, they were just happening that way. It was almost like I couldn't help it. Sometimes I was holding back to throw myself to the floor. Other times I was close to unleashing Spike on the person closest to me.

Were men supposed to experience this?

I didn't think so.

I thought about this as Rachel stood at the front of the table, holding the girls' planner for their vlog as she flipped through some of the pages and several sticky notes. Christine had dragged me along so we could have some time together, but the girls had been so entranced by Rachel speaking she forgot all about the plans. Not that I minded.

Bree was…off, maybe? I didn't get it, but she was nodding off a lot during the entire lunch period. I had a strong hunch that she'd been doing so as well in all her classes too, but had been too distracted to ask her. She leaned against her fist, blinking furiously to keep her eyes open while Rachel discussed their schedule, or whatever they call it. (I seriously wasn't listening.)

"Wake up," I whispered, discreetly kicking her leg under the table. Her head shot up; glaring at me as she rubbed the spot I kicked.

"What was that for?" she hissed tiredly.

I leaned closer, whispering, "Look, I'm pretty sure Rachel's going to ask you something, so you should be thanking me for saving your butt."

Bree continued to shoot me a look, but she knew I was right—like always.

Christine looked pretty busy too. She had a pocket sized notebook open and was writing down names like MacBarbie07 and Stilababe09. Did I miss something?

"What is that?" I asked.

She snorted, a piece of loose hair flying up into the air as she did so. "Have you paid attention to what she says at all?"

I gestured across the table to where Adam and Leo leaned against their arms, obviously asleep. "Need I say more?"

Christine giggled and shook her head. "I'm making a list of YouTube accounts to view later today for more ideas for videos. We're thinking of doing a few costume ones since it's October…are you listening?"

"Sorry." I gave my head a quick shake. "You lost me at videos."

My girlfriend muttered something that sounded distinctly like "typical male," but continued on with her list. I watched her with mild interest and shook my juice before twisting the cap off.

The rest of lunch went something along the lines of that, with Rachel screaming at most of the girls (Bree, mostly) for not paying enough attention.

Wouldn't she make a _great _boss someday?

Either way, Bree didn't seem to be too concerned. Instead of straightening up under Rachel's fierce gaze like she might've if awake, she sank deeper into her crossed arms and closed her eyes, getting comfortable.

That is, until the bell rang for the end of lunch.

* * *

On the walk home, I was only half paying attention to what Christine said, no matter how rude that sounded.

Bree was accompanying us like usual, instead taking up Janelle's offer of getting a ride home with her, Leo, and everyone else.

As my girlfriend talked on, my mind wandered off to the thought of the possibility Bree had brought up the first week of school. But that was ridiculous, Davenport doing such things a _month _into the new school year. It just couldn't happen, right?

But it would explain the sudden drowsiness in Bree's attitude, and why he seemed especially focused on keeping her chip up to date…

…I was just being paranoid, right?

Of course I was.

Whatever.

I tried to push these thoughts away as Christine gave a particularly hard tug on my arm for my attention. "You're not a very good listener," she commented lightly.

"Sorry, lost in thought I guess."

My girlfriend shrugged. "Either way, I think I might be busy this summer."

What? "How can you already be planning this summer? That tired of school already?" I joked.

"Like you would know what it's like to be tired of school," she teased. "I am dating a geek you know."

"We prefer the term nerds."

She laughed, knocking my shoulder with hers and adjusting her backpack as she said, "But I'm serious. I've been thinking—"

That's never good.

I didn't realize I'd spoken aloud until Christine hit my shoulder again and whined, "Chase."

"Okay, okay." I held my hands up in mock surrender. "If you want me to ask then I will—Christine, my dear, _dear_, girlfriend"—she rolled her eyes at how dramatic I drag it out to be—"Why are you going to be busy this summer?"

Then she said it: "I think I'm going to an art school."

Silence. Dead silence was the only thing filling the space between us. I was aware of Christine, looking at me as she rocked on her heels, expecting an answer. I completely stopped in my tracks.

How could she be thinking about something like a talent—art school, whatever the hell they were called—when three weeks ago (not even a month) she was telling me how much she dreaded the play.

What had changed?

When I decided to voice my thoughts to her, she shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "I don't know. The play itself isn't something that I find…_captivating_…" Really? That was the word she was going to use? "But acting itself strikes me as fun."

Fun?

"Don't you think this could be a, you know, phase?" I tried to tread this carefully, knowing if I said the wrong thing, she could go off like I ticking bomb. "I mean, just this summer you were all for Bree and you starting a pet business when you get into college; how did you jump to acting?"

Christine, while not as mad as I was hoping for her not to be, looked a little crestfallen I wasn't completely on board with her sudden career change. Did I mention I was never one for change? No matter how bionic I was and the environment I grew up in?

"Well, Jillard does hand out early acceptance letters."

Wait, was she implying exactly what I thought she was? "Did you already send out an application? Already?"

She rolled her eyes, waving away my assumption with her hand. "Don't be ridiculous," she laughed. "I still have to talk to my Dad and Rem and, dude; it _is only_ October you know."

"But—"

Christine laughed again, resting her index finger softly against my lips. She leaned closer, our noses nearly touching. Her breath puffed out against my cheek. "You know what I like about you best?" she whispered with a playful glint in her eyes. I narrowed mine at her as she continued speaking. "That you can turn into Spike; maybe he wouldn't act this way."

I pulled away, managing to let out a strained, puzzled, "What?" as Christine stepped back, laughing as she bent over, and hands on her knees I was right to find it offensive that she found my confusion so hilarious, right?

"I'm—sorry," she managed to spit out between breaths of uncontainable laughter. "But you have to admit it's true. The way he's always so riled up and on guard; it's kind of sexy."

"What?" I stuttered, appalled and angry. "This is just like Superman! What makes you think I'm going to put with—"

She silenced me. Christine stood on the tip of her Vans. (She really didn't have to.) Her hands pressed down on my shoulders, smashing out mouths harder together, teeth bumping and tongues wetting lips. Like a reflex, my hands grip her hips hard enough to dig my fingers into her skin as I pulled her closer.

It took minutes before our lungs need inflation and we pulled away. Christine looked up at me, flat on her feet again, with a distant smirk on her lips and gleam in her eye.

"Tell Spike that kiss was for him." She _winked_, skipping off to her porch; just then I noticed we were standing in front of her house.

What the hell did that girl do to me?

* * *

Once I'm home, the scent of meat and cheese hit my nostrils like a missile. Tasha was cooking away in the kitchen, Bree sitting at the counter with her head in her arms. Seeing an opportunity, I snuck over and leaned over, my hand poking her shoulder as I whispered, "Your hair is on fire."

"What?!" Bree shrieked in alarm, nearly hitting herself on a used pan she flung up from her chair, hands wildly going through her hair, looking for the flames that weren't there. Once she realized that I was nearly choking on my ribs from laughing and that there wasn't any fire, she screamed and pushed me. Even when she's tired, she still had an impeccable force in her.

"Chase!"

"Yeah, Chase that isn't funny," Tasha scolded, looking up from her pot. "If you really wanted a reaction out of her, you should've said a spider on fire."

Bree gave pointed looks at both of us, glaring as she stomped up to her room, but more slowly than she normally would have.

"I might just be being paranoid, but is something going on with her?" I asked suspicious. Weren't women supposed to tell other women everything? This seemed like one of those cases.

Tasha continued to stir whatever in the pot. "She's under a lot of stress right now, poor girl," she sympathized. "Donald has her working two hours more of training than normal—God knows why—and managing nearly that entire play is getting at her nerves."

"Did she tell you of this?" It was a bit hard to believe Bree admitting as much as that, even if she was admitting it to Tasha.

Tasha paused for a couple seconds. "Call it womanly intuition," she decided. "Girls just pick up faster on things about other girls."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

* * *

_October 12__th__ 2013_

No One's Pov

It's after school, and Christine walked away from her friends, her still stretched into a smile from laughing. Trying to shift her books from her arms into her bags, her Van clad feet went tripping across the ground, sending her and the person in front of her crashing to the floor in a heap.

"Sorry," Christine muttered, distracted as she scuttled across the floor to gather her things before they were kicked too far out of reach. She didn't have time to obsess over a fall; she needed to home to her father to make sure he was still okay—it felt weird to leave him alone for so long when he wasn't right. Rem knew something Christine detected, but she wouldn't tell the girl what.

(And, to be honest, when was it when Rem didn't know something? Never.)

"S'kay," the voice from next to her said back, "I was looking for you."

That grabbed her attention.

Christine looked up into the greyish pools hopefully looking at her while calloused hands held out her textbooks to her. Balancing her notebooks, she warily reached out and took her things back from him.

"Not to be rude, but what are you doing here?" she asked bluntly.

"Well, hello to you too," Hunter huffed; particularly offended she didn't give him a proper greeting.

The brunette _really _didn't have time for his game, whatever it was. "Fine, hello—now what are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you about something," Hunter announced nonchalantly.

Christine put her wrist under her nose to check to her Jack Skellington watch. "And you couldn't have waited until ten minutes later when I would've been home?" she asked, lowering her arm to her side again with a look.

"This is really important," Hunter promised, trying to plead with her.

Christine sighed, staring into the distance, eyes going up to look at the darkening sky. "Hurry up; we have five minutes until it starts to pour and Rachel will be livid if I show up looking like a drowned rat to shoot to vlog."

Hunter smiled in relief, reaching out to grab her arm and pull her aside. Once they were in the shadow of the school, out of sight and broad daylight, her still dropped his voice and looked to side to side warily. "I think we should tell."

Her eyes narrowed, twisting her arm out of his grip and crossing her arms over her chest. Even when he towered six inches above her head, she managed to scare the living hell out of him.

"Tell who what?"

Hunter scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Maybe your dad and Chase should know about that few years ago?" he tried again. "Remember when we dated…?"

"Of course I remember!" Christine hissed, letting her voice drop as well. "I'm not an idiot; and who do you think you are to suggest telling either of them such a thing? My father's already under enough distress from seeing my mother for the first time in person for years—we, _you_, don't need to say anything to make it worse. Are we clear?" Christine stood tall, hands on hips as she waited for an answer.

Hunter's shoulders sunk, but he nodded and mocked, "Yes, ma'am."

They said their stiff good-byes and Christine stood watching as her old friend started to the parking lot, toward his car. But as he did so, she couldn't help but notice another, different, figure's shadow slip into his, but when she blinked several times and focused again, it was gone.

* * *

**There wasn't a top A/N like usual because there isn't much to say. I'm sorry the update took longer than planned, and that there still isn't another cover, but one is on its way.**

**And if any of you guys are fans of iCarly, please read my new story, PROM, on that archive.**

**Guess that is it. Thanks for reading lovelies and please drop a review to comment on what you liked about this chapter.**

**Before I forget: MacBarbie07 and Stilababe09 are fashion/beauty/vlog accounts on YouTube and both of them are truly amazing. I just now started watching their videos and their advice helps loads! Plus they are both super funny and I highly encourage you to check them out, kay?  
**


	11. Chapter 10

**This February is gonna be completely insane. I'm busy doing some matchmaking and helping my friends with some Valentine/crush/liking issues and so far, I'm more nervous than they are, so it's been throwing my writing track completely off track.**

**Yeah, this Valentine's Day was gonna be…something.**

**But I hope my February updates for LL will still be as often as they are now, once a week at best. Every other week if it gets completely nuts.**

**So that is my love plans for this month. And it's weird because I'm writing Halloween in this story when it had just been V-day in real life. Whatever.**

**Yeah, I figure I'd explain a little how my future looks and why updates will be kind of sluggish for a bit, but don't worry, I'm trying to work out the kinks.**

* * *

_October 14__th__ 2013_

Christine's Pov

It was after school when I decided I was going to do it. I had to face them sometime didn't I? And why not on a Monday?

Rem was taking a break, reading a home styling magazine of sorts. I found it ironic how alike Tasha and her were, but they had not met each other, not really. I would have to do something about that later, I thought when stepping completely inside the house.

"Hello," she greeted without looking up, "how was school?"

"Same old, I guess." I slung my bag off my shoulder and took of my jacket. Some hair fell into my face from escaping my bobby pins; I blew at them—they went up and came back down stubbornly. "Tina's still a brat, Bree's still off, and Chase is…acting like _Rachel_."

While I hadn't been able to gather my wits enough to talk to Rem about my decision on theatre school, I had no problem explaining the weird behaviors and goings at school. Telling her things like that came naturally enough to be said without thought.

But telling her I want to leave early in the semester to a school I didn't even think I'd like? That would need some careful treading.

"And Rachel?" Rem prompted.

"Still…crazy." No use in denying the truth, is there? Especially to someone who could detect my lies before I could.

Rem flipped a page. "So basically your average everyday high school life?"

I nodded, inching toward the stairs. "Yep, pretty much."

I could never tell what Rem was thinking. She had emotions as real as mine, but I could never tell what inside that head of hers besides wires and gears. Dad must've built her with memories, created or borrowed from his own; I came to this conclusion on my own. But wasn't lonely for her to stay here all day—a maid practically?

I was going to have to set her up with some friends, maybe it will help me feel a little less guilty with the whole "secret theatre life" I had going on.

After making up some excuse about practicing lines and tying some loose ends with homework, I hurried upstairs and pulled my bag into my lap. After some frantic searching (Jesus, I really needed to clean out this thing.) and a little bit of cursing, I found the wrinkled pamphlet.

Biting my lip, I looked down at the front picture. It was the front of the building, _Juilliard _written in bold print across the top. From looking inside it a dozen times, I knew it showed the inside of the school—the stages, the courses, other priceless sights of the school—and had paragraph after paragraph of information and history on the culture of the school. Might I say, it was very convincing.

But could I really leave everything behind for an art school? I couldn't picture myself leaving my boyfriend, friends, family, and home behind, and I certain couldn't bring them with me—no matter how much I wanted to.

When giving the matter deeper thought, this was really all Alissa's fault. I would have been perfectly fine going on obliviously unaware that she had ties to Juilliard and thought that it would be the school that suited me best. So really, with that logic and reason backing it up, my scattered thoughts on a school I hadn't considered for my life was to be blamed on her.

"You really have great potential for going far in theatre," she'd told me after practice the other day.

I'd had been in a rush to get home and was only half listening. "Really?" I had asked as I started to put my stuff away.

"Really." Alissa seemed dead set on continuing this conversation further, and I sighed, knowing I didn't have a choice.

"How so?"

Alissa grabbed her bag—the one she used for all rehearsals to put spare and lost scripts and other things I hadn't bothered to ask about. After she had a little rummaging session, she pulled out a thick pamphlet.

"For starters," she began, "your talent of remembering lines is phenomenal. And you obviously have major talent with being in character at all times on stage. And you know, many Broadway performers started with doing plays in school."

She was right, but at the time I had other things to worry about. "What are you saying?"

Alissa handed me the booklet and I stared down at it before shoving it inside my bag and starting toward the door.

Just think about it.

I tiredly tossed the booklet on my nightstand—away from me. I laid down on my bed and just thought. Leaving my dad—that was something that just couldn't be done. At least not intentionally. Yes, it would be pretty amazing to go to a performing arts school in New York, but it wouldn't be my first rodeo in the big apple.

But there was the fact on his behavior. He wasn't that old, mid to late thirties. Stress, maybe? I had thought about my being involved in theatre bringing back painful memories of his romance with Maria, which could totally be possible. That was probably it, and it just made me feel worse.

Rem knew something, but Lord knew she would rust over before actually_ giving_ me the answers. I either had to earn it, or things had to have a major turn of events before she stooped to do such a thing. It wasn't her best trait, but that's what made her Rem.

As I rested there, looking up into nothing but the blank paint of my ceiling, I thought about my family, friends, and others—and how we were all linked. Like in a book I read once. Rem was the mother like character who was tied into everything, had knowledge of everything, but Hell would freeze over before she let you get your nose in too far too fast. Dad was the lost, dazed parent who was either in their office or room, sulking or blanking out.

In a way, I could relate to the main character that was stuck in the middle of different worlds. One world was my performing; my other was with the people I cared about.

Could I really leave them?

No. I just couldn't do that. Juilliard was a school; these people that meant everything to me were much more than that.

I slapped my hand over my eyes.

I needed a nap—desperately.

* * *

_October 15__th__ 2013_

I woke up in a fussy tangle in my sheets, confused about what exactly I'd been dreaming about. All that came to mind when I tried to think about it was an abnormally intelligent duck and the stagnant smell of sweaty socks and burning popcorn.

I was such a freak.

Dragging myself to the closet, some clothes were tossed onto my bed with my makeup bag (completely Ashley's doing when she found out I didn't have one—I swear, she nearly _died._) and threw my black Vans near my bed; or, at least in the general direction of my bed.

The girls completely attacked my clothes for the fall. And Bree's too, as far as I knew. Instead of letting me live in peace with my usual style, they swapped all my T-shirts and V-necks for patterned sweaters and long cardigans. And, to which I heavy protested to, they hid away most of my jeans for leg warmers and leggings, leaving me with only two or three pair to go on until winter—possibly.

(They knew I would get them eventually, but stayed in public with tons of witnesses, I couldn't strike too soon.)

I looked into my new wardrobe, puzzled. It was like looking into Ashley, Sammie, and Rachel's closets combined. After a few minutes of sleepy stalling, I looked to see what I tossed on my bed, blinking to see if it was just a blind mess of clothes.

But, no. It actually looked pretty good. Although, that didn't mean much—something I would pick out if my eyes were fully open, however. It was a simple floral knee length dress with a navy blue button up cardigan, a white flower headband peeking out of the pocket.

They truly prepared me for everything, didn't they?

I stumbled to my dresser, still asleep and wishing I was under my covers, despite my weird dreams. I yanked the first drawer open and dug out some socks and my thin leather brown belt for the dress and my other essentials for the day before getting ready.

Five minutes later I was officially wide awake, but not happy; I looked like a Barbie doll from one of our vlog shows. The only sign of me was my Vans, which I was sure would be gone the second my back was turned. Scowling, I recited Rachel's fall fashion-slash-accessories rule and grabbed some fruity perfume, giving myself a good spritz for the day. I wasn't one of those girls who ditched deodorant completely for perfume—God, no. But it never hurt to have…extra help.

"You're looking well," Rem commented when I came downstairs. I was still scowling.

"Of course _you_ would say that."

For a quick breakfast, I grabbed an apple and Nature Valley granola bar. Recently, no one paid any mind to me having coffee, so I dug out a Disney mug, poured the black liquid in, before adding nearly twice as much coffee milk in. I may have liked to have my share of coffee, but the strong taste as plain was just too much, and the milk helped. Not much, but some.

After realizing I was a few minutes behind due to knowing where nothing was in my closet anymore, I dumped the rest of my coffee into a water bottle and hurried out the door, shouting a goodbye to Rem as I went.

* * *

Rachel was…actually bearable for most of the day. The morning had to be her worst time, but mornings were everyone's off time of the day, so I let it slide. For once. And, if I didn't know better, one word I could've used was _calm_.

But saying calm to describe Rachel in anyway was unlikely in every way possible. Maybe it was her having the added pressure of the vlog with having to study for Driver's Ed this year, but something changed.

"I personally think its Adam's fault," Janelle observed during study hall. Where, obviously, no studying was being done, let alone thought of. "Everything was perfectly fine until he started making goo-goo faces at Danielle again."

Oh my freaking—I completely forgot about that! Rachel had called a girl meeting over the phones, extremely livid over the fact that Adam was paired with Danielle on two—not one but _two_—projects for school. She was convinced they were doing way more than research and I, being a girlfriend and all, couldn't blame her for her paranoia. Besides, Adam hadn't really picked up on her liking him yet.

Their mess of a relationship was still a major work in process.

Before I could tell Janelle on my large case of forgetfulness, Chase came in, dragging a monstrous looking Bree behind him.

"Did she get hit with a truck or something?" Janelle asked when he dropped his sister to the floor. Bree weakly raised to her knees, leaning against his leg. It was a sad, pathetic sight to see honestly.

"Really, what happened to her?" I asked, a tiny bit more curious than concerned on the matter.

Chase shrugged, looking down to his leg. "I don't know, virus, maybe?"

He may have been the genius, but I could tell it wasn't a run-of-the-mill virus that had given Bree this erotic, horrendous behavior. It was too out of the ordinary—even for a bionic teen. Even though I had completely blown off her worries of something strange happening with our bionic training during the beginning of the school year, I was starting to suspect she wasn't that far off.

But maybe we had been asking the wrong questions and looking at the wrong angles all this time.

"What would Davenport find successful in turning her into a zombie?" I thought aloud, dropping to kneel to lug Bree's body into a chair. She was my height, but with way more muscle, making her body a little hard to manage on my own. Once she was in a desk, she drooped forward, her forehead making a loud smack on the desk. "It doesn't seem like him to purposely make something fail."

Janelle decided to add in her two cents, which wasn't that far off. "What if that's it?" She had our attention. "Like what if he wants to see how you guys act to a certain sickness or plague type of thing?"

"We're nearly invincible," Chase snorted. "We don't just get _sick_."

"Exactly—heavy emphasis on _nearly_."

Chase squinted, ready to counter her retort when he stopped short, realizing she was right. He fell silent, dumbfounded because of his superiority being damaged.

I smirked, laying a hand on his shoulder. "That bruises your ego a bit, Einstein?"

"Like a banana."

For the last couple of minutes before the bell rang, we discussed this new theory further. All of us (especially Chase) felt stupid for not considering this sooner. But my concern was different than the others; if he was willing to do this to Bree, how soon would Adam or Chase was next?

It was when the bell finally rang and everyone began to rush toward the door, I, with the help of Chase and Janelle, managed to drag Bree to the nurse's office.

"We don't deal with run-overs," the busty nurse called out from behind her desk. She had a heavy Southern drawl, and was filing her nails.

This school was a sad, pathetic place.

"She just needs a cot to use for sleeping," Chase explained, taking his sister from me. "She's been having insomnia issues lately."

The nurse smacked her lips and tossed a clipboard at us. "Fill this out and pick up the body before school ends."

Chase grunted away, pulling Bree into the back room. I took the clipboard and began filling it out. By the time he came back, Janelle and I had finished most of the questions.

"I have no idea what her medical history is." I handed him the clipboard.

Janelle tilted her head. "Or if she even has one."

"Of course she does," Chase replied offhandedly, filing out the question at lightning speed. He tossed the clipboard back at the nurse, even though she didn't care, and walked out the door with us.

"Well"—Janelle stretched to the sky—"that's enough drama for one day. I think I'll get some lunch. Either of you coming with?"

Even though I was pretty hungry, Chase and I needed to have a little couple meeting, so I waved her off.

"We're going to have a family dinner."

His eyebrows nearly shot up to his hairline. "Okay, mind cluing me in?"

"For starters, my dad really needs to get out the house." Chase knew of Dad's sudden weird behavior and was as puzzled as I was, but didn't object as I continued on. "And I thought it'd be the perfect place to reveal my decision."

"Rem, too?"

"That was a stupid question." I smacked him on the shoulder. "Of course Rem, too."

Chase held his hands up in surrender. "Fine, but Eddy may have some things to say about that."

"Yeah, like Edie can't keep him in line. Don't worry; I got my ways."

* * *

**So that's it for this chapter. I'm sorry it's more of filler than expected, but I promise you the next one will be better and hopefully come sooner.**

**I really wanted to do the next chapter in Chase's Pov so it can lead in more to Bree's sudden sickness and strange attitudes. Because that will be an entire different subplot of its own, and it helps having something that can't be Christine's Pov but more Chase's, like hers with the play.**

**That's all for now. Love you guys, and if you have anything to say on the chapter or your predictions on the next one, please leave a review. **


	12. Chapter 11

**Hey again! I have a new one-shot out for Victorious, and it'd mean the world if you read it and dropped a review :)**

**Sorry for the kind of late update. I've been trying to survive with a running nose and constantly blowing all the crap out and…yeah, my life.**

**Read on and enjoy!**

* * *

_October 15th 2013_

Chase's Pov

Christine called half an hour before they were supposed to come to confirm their arrival. Bree was still out of it, but not as much. (That didn't mean much, except that it was mild enough for Davenport not to notice—again, not saying much.)

Tasha was busy moving around the kitchen, not able to stand still. First she was at the stove, then the fridge, then the oven, then back to the fridge. It was like she couldn't make up her mind where it was the place to cook.

"The only thing that'll do is start to freeze the house," I joked when she stood in front of fridge, door open, for five minute. Tasha had been at for more than two hours with very little progress.

"Can robots even eat or drink anything? Should I get a pitcher and fill it with oil?" She was muttering to herself, sounding like a madwoman as she started for her pitcher. Then she stopped. "Listen to me." Tasha shook her head. "Normal housewives don't have to worry about robot guests and their eating habits. Why can't I be like one of them?"

"Because then you wouldn't have a rich husband." We both laughed because, as usual, I was right.

It felt good to laugh during a mother and son moment with Tasha. Sure, those moments were peculiarly rare, but it was nice to enjoy them when they occurred. Despite her weirdness toward us being bionic—basically science experiments, which Davenport would never admit to—she was good to us.

To show my kindness, I helped set the table. I had to drag to drag three extra chairs in, but I didn't mind.

"But really," Tasha asked from her pot. "What does a robot maid _eat_? Can I even call it eating?"

"Of course Rem eats," I said surely, but had no idea if I was right or not. Thinking back, I've never really seen Rem eat anything—or drink either.

"Sup, babe?" Christine greeted once she picked up her phone.

I chuckled nervously, having no idea how to put it without defending her—Christine could get really defensive about Rem at times. "Uh yeah, hey. About dinner tonight…"

"Oh God." She sighed heavily into her phone; it made an ear-splitting crackle. At least, to me anyway. "They cancelled it didn't they? Aw, man, I was _this close _to getting my dad out of his robe—"

I cut her off. "No! No! That's not it at all. It's just—Tasha's flipped out about not knowing what Rem eats; no offense, but does she even eat?"

There was a pause, making me dread her answer. Until laughter exploded in my ear. Christine was still giggling as she answered. "She eats what we eat, silly! Dad did make her a human robot after all. She has a filter that allows her to digest regular food then…_reproduce _it later. What, did you think she was always drinking car oil or something?" Christine continued to laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world. Knowing her, it probably was.

"Haha, yeah…" I trailed off awkwardly, backtracking into the kitchen and grabbing the cookbook off the counter. Tasha looked to me curiously as I stopped on a page; Christine's favorite and easy to cook.

I put it back down and pointed at it, my phone balanced between my ear and shoulder. "Yeah, thanks for clarifying, Chris. Yeah, okay, uh huh, see you soon. Love you."

I hung up and shoved my phone back into my pocket. I told Tasha what Christine said, leaving out the part about the filter and other stuff, mainly focusing on how Rem could eat whatever. That seemed to calm her down. After finishing up what I'd been doing, I hurried down to the lab.

"How's she doing?" I asked, looking to Bree. She had been in her tube after Adam had carried her down here from her room, but now Davenport had her lying on the table, plenty of wires and monitors lying around her. She looked like she was sleeping, but I knew better.

"Oh, besides the fact that Big D practically drugged her to death, shoved about twenty needles filled with God-knows-what in her, and made me feel if her throat was swollen, she's doing dandy," Leo answered sarcastically with an eye roll.

I turned to Davenport after looking to Bree with more than a handful of wires attached to her head. "Really? Too cheap to take her to a professional, like a hospital?"

"Oh please," Davenport replied offhandedly, looking to his clipboard; he had several pages most likely littered with thousands of notes. "I'm a billionaire scientist—I think I can figure out what's wrong with a teenage girl."

I seriously doubted that, but said nothing.

Leo on the other hand, had no problem speaking his mind. "You said that when Ethan dumped her—she didn't talk to you worth nothing for a month."

He had a point.

Davenport waved him off. "Leo, this is highly different circumstances. This is medically a bionic health problem and these things are straight up my alley." He paused. "Somewhat."

Leo shrugged. "Fine, but if my mother comes after you for wrecking her only daughter, she'll wreck you," he warned, walking out of the lab.

What Leo said was completely possible and the thought seemed to send a chill through Davenport, because he knew the truth of how fierce Tasha could be.

I walked closer to Bree. Not any of us had ever been to a hospital before, and were very inexperienced and less notified of how sickness worked. We never had a reason to get sick, so we didn't. But look down at my sister, pale and asleep but dead, with several God-knows-what kinds of drugs running through her, I felt the panic people must've felt when something was happening out of their control.

I didn't ever want to feel that way again. Especially when one of my siblings was involved.

"This is strange," Davenport spoke from a monitor. A thick black cord ran from it and slipped underneath Bree's shirt to attach somewhere on her stomach. The sight and thoughts of what it could be made my stomach flop.

"What is it?" My worry peaked. So far, my evening was beginning a disastrous. Tasha was behind with cooking; Leo and Adam were planning something for sure; and Davenport and I were trying to figure out what happened to my sister, when nothing should have happened at all.

He tapped away at the keyboard. "Her stress levels and blood pressure had raised an extreme amount. When had she first started showing unnatural symptoms?"

"Three days before the first day of school," I answered immediately. "But more major than minor signs approached more obviously the second week of school when the play was first mentioned."

"Anything else? Any stress inducing events over that period of time?" Davenport wouldn't look up from the monitor, still tap, tap, tapping away at the keys.

I tried to think back harder. There was a string connecting the two different time gaps. There just had to be. "There's a new girl," I remembered suddenly. "We ran into her at the mall before school started and she's an understudy in the play. But what could she possibly want with Bree?"

That was a good question. What type of business would Tina Walters have with Bree? She was new to town from Arizona, and hadn't even been there for two months before she met us at the mall. What kind of news or rumors could have reached her about Bree? _Was _there any news she could've heard? The idea was unlikely, but possible nonetheless.

There was groan. I jumped in surprise and looked down. She still looked sickly, but Bree moved her arms a couple inches and tried to look up. "Chase?" she asked. Her eyes were still closed, but her face scrunched up before stiffly relaxing again. It was almost like she was in pain. I bet she was.

I couldn't answer before she was pulled back under. Bree went entirely limp and her head lolled.

"What did you do?" I asked, not sure how to feel about this anymore.

"It's better for her to be unconscious and on her way to health than awake and out of it," Davenport explained—he finally was away from the monitor. "Besides, the last thing we need is her acting loopy with someone else out of their mind at the dinner table."

I tensed, knowing he was talking about Grant. Sure, he had been acting a bit irregular lately, but could he really be called out of his mind? All I knew was, Davenport better not talk like that around Christine or all hell will break loose before the main course arrived.

* * *

Only a half hour later did the Grants' arrive. Christine was the first one to step through the door, hugging me so tight I was sure my lungs would burst. Then she smashed our mouths together like we hadn't seen each other in centuries.

Not that I was to complain.

"Whoa, whoa," Leo complained from the couch. Even with company over, his nose was still buried in his newest comic. "No need to each other's faces off when we have a three course meal, people!"

"Leo!" Tasha scolded, smacking him upside the head with her oven mitt. It couldn't have been that bad, but Leo cried out like she had launched a bullet through his brain. What a wimp. "That is not how we act with company over."

"Nah, don't worry about it." Grant smiled, a little strained but he looked impressive. He was dressed in jeans and a crisp button down shirt. He wore work boots; Christine must've fixed him up in order for the event.

I never really noticed that Rem wore clothes before—I didn't think she _did _wear clothes. She was a piece of machinery after all, but that wasn't really fair. Plus Christine would surely kill me if I ever voiced such a thought to her. But Rem was wearing a purple breast plate, tiny silver plate dotting the plate like buttons. It was original and never before seen, but impressive all the same.

"I'm sure Donald will be right up. You know him, always playing with different projects." Tasha laughed like the perfect housewife and ushered everyone to their spots around the table. Christine shot me a look from across the table where she sat next to Grant, her eyes bouncing from the direction of the lab then back to Bree's empty spot.

_Where is she? What did he do to her?_

_Later_, was the only thing I could signal back to her as an answer before the salad was passed around.

Everyone made a cheery small talk about school and work and how nice it was to have a big family get together. Christine kept eyeing everything, like she expected Davenport to pop out of the lab and proclaim Bree dead from something that could've been stopped. When Davenport did finally come upstairs, no deaths or diseases were to be reported. That's always a good sign, unless he was simply holding back something because of the amount of people in the room.

"Sorry everyone," he apologized with a weird looking smile. I'd seen fake smiles and strained smiles, but never one as unreadable as his was at that moment. It was weird—Davenport was always able to close off whatever he thinking at that moment. It was something I envied greatly. "Caught up in an extremely riveting new project; worth all the extra attention."

Leo, Christine, and I shot him suspicious looks; stating something like that could make it go either way. I wasn't sure anyone had clued Adam in yet. As he play with the tongs like it was claws, flicking lettuce and crotons everywhere, I realized it was probably better if he didn't know.

Even though I was still wary of what was happening to Bree, Christine's attention was soon captured by something else entirely.

"Oh my God!" she gasped in excitement, her face lighting up as bright as a summer morning. "Is that gumbo? I haven't had any in forever!" She gently nudged her father. "_Someone _lost the recipe in a box that's God-knows-where, didn't they, Dad?"

"Guilty as charged," Grant laughed.

"A little birdy told me it was your favorite, and I've always wanted to break into my mother's special recipes." Tasha winked my way as she set the pot down and sat back in her seat.

It turned out Christine was right. Rem ate as much salad and gumbo and rolls as the rest of us. I made a mental note to save what was left for Bree and out of Adam's sight; he had the weirdest habit of sleep eating and could destroy the fridge in minutes.

My girlfriend smile over the table at me as she helped herself to a second serving. Not that we had to worry about sizes; Tasha always could enough to feed three parties for reasons beyond me.

"So, Donald," Grant began, "what kind of famous projects are you working on recently? I've started investigating my own little theory into more mission-worthy machinery?"

This certainly perked Leo's interest. "What kind of machines? Missile launching robots? Rockets that shoot lasers? Whatwhatwhat?"

"Leo…" Tasha started in a warning tone. Grant simply dismissed her with a wave.

"It's fine, Tasha. The boy is just curious in the fascinating art of science. I started out just the same when I was a little younger than his age."

Davenport interjected, saying, "Or he really just wants to find out what's new he can break." The entire table cracked a smile of chuckle at that, knowing it was true. Leo flopped back in his chair and pouted.

"Well, actually." Davenport leaned forward in his seat, enjoying having everyone's attention. "I've been getting into repair more than anything. Seventeen years without an incident, but with three powerful teenagers, what are you going to do?"

Grant nodded in understanding. Then his head snapped from side to side, like doing mental math of all the people at the table. "Where's your girl? Bree, wasn't it?"

He paused, trying to carefully form his words. "Ah, she volunteered to help me with my studies into bionic maintenance and healing within interacting with a specifically overriding virus entering their systems. She decided to stay in the lab and take some notes on her own further research into the topic."

Even I had to admit that was some talented work. Close to the truth (if you could say that), and well worded enough to keep suspicion at bay. But my girlfriend gave me a pointed look, knowing there was more to the story than anyone was letting on. She saw Bree that morning—no way was she up from taking "notes". I could practically see the gears turning fast in her head as she processed Davenport's mini explanation. _Virus _and _entering their systems _looked to be stuck on repeat as conflict flickered back and forth on her face. Christine forced herself to remain calm.

Grant nodded, approving his answer almost. "You were always one to do everything at once, weren't you Donald? Doesn't surprise me your using medical needs into the world of a scientist."

Davenport smirked, sitting up straighter in his chair. The man was never one to turn down a compliment when it wasn't himself giving him one. "Well, I do try."

"And fail," Tasha added under her breath, but nearly everyone heard it. (Except maybe Adam, who was still too busy with his claw to notice anything else at the dinner table. Rem nodded in agreement.

Everyone broke up into their own groups. The ladies stayed at the table while the men moved to the couch to discuss further into their studies and theories. The kids were put in charge of cleaning duty—also known as make-sure-Leo-didn't-break-any-fine-china duty for everything else.

"What did he mean by _virus_?" Christine hissed as I handed her another cup to dry.

I shrugged it off, not knowing how to reply. I focused on soaking the dishes into the warm soapy water that plugged up the sink.

"He meant that New Girl possibly killed Bree and we all just had an awesome dinner while she laid on her deathbed," Leo quipped from the where I had punished him on the counter. I turned and swiftly kicked his leg.

My girlfriend froze at the mention of the new girl. "What does that brat have to do with this?" she gritted out as she clenched her jaw and tightened her fists.

"Nothing," I tried to assure the both of us. "Tests just show that Bree suffers from major levels of stress and blood pressure problem since the first day of school, and the levels were a little higher than the others once the play started. But it could just be stress from the new school year." But it was too late. Nothing I said could possibly change Christine's mind now.

"Stress my ass," Christine muttered. She gripped a dish so tight it nearly cracked beneath the force of her fingertips. "That Walters Barbie has something to do with this. She's been giving me a bad feeling all along, and now someone's gotten hurt."

"Like I said, we don' know that."

Christine was close to bursting, but right when he face was turning a burning pink, she swiveled away from me. Her shoulders rose and fell a couple times as she counted. When she turned back around her face was stony, but not as boiling red.

"Still mad?"

"Do you even know me?"

My girlfriend slammed her drying rag down and ignored the dishes. Her lips set into a tight line as she grabbed at Leo and mine's wrists. "Come on. We're going down there."

Sneaking past the adults was simple. They were too wrapped up in their own conversations to worry about what the kids were doing and Adam was replaying his ringtone over and over again. It was too easy to keep his small brain distracted for long.

"Oh my God." Christine stopped in the doorway of the lab, looking to Bree's figure. What she saw was her in her worst state, but Bree actually looked better than when I last saw her. Now there was fluid pumping into her veins through an IV at her wrist, and some of the wired censors had been peeled away from her head. Color was returning to face, albeit slowly.

"Hasn't Davenport ever heard of a hospital?" Christine stepped closer slowly; eyes narrowing as she reluctantly touched a taped blue wire that disappeared up Bree's shirt. "You know, with actual professionals?"

Leo leaned against computer desk. "You know Davenport," he drawled lazily. "When something like this is concerned, he _is _an actual professional."

* * *

**I'm just gonna leave it there for now because I have no other ideas for an ending.**

**This has to be the weirdest chapter ever from a writer's point of view. Like, I really want to call this filler, but it kind of isn't because everything in it is what I told you would be in it and a lot more useful information for further chapters.**

**So yeah, I'll leave it to you guys to decide. Leave a review and tell us what you think the chapter is.**


	13. Chapter 12

**This chapter will be a tad important, so I suggest you focus on the details closely if you really want more of a dramatic side of the plotline this time.**

* * *

_October 17__th__ 2013_

Christine's Pov

Well my life was just a freaking soap opera, now wasn't it? Not only was a new Barbie trying to walk all over me, but now I had a close, not-willing-to-lose friend lying around with a bunch of God-knows-what pumping through her from a bunch of wires and machines. And that wasn't even because of a hospital—where she should be in her condition. But all hell would break loose if I was to have said something, and I knew when to keep my mouth shut.

Not only that, but it was only three weeks before opening night. The plan was the have two shows each day for three days—that Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. That sounded pretty basic and like a simple plan, but it was hard to keep a play from slipping (even in rehearsals) when the main gears of the operation was sick with a virus no one except a handful of people knew about.

Suffice to say, Rachel and the girls didn't take the news likely upon finding out about Bree's condition. They knew enough about our talents to know "sickness" and "mental maintenance" were never good phrases to have come up about a bionic teenager.

There was a lot screaming and complaining and whining and then more screaming, while Ashley, Sammie, and Janelle just seemed to let Rachel do all the talking. Believe me, she did enough of it for an entire meeting of people.

"Why do I have to come with you?" Ashley whined as I dragged her along to the drama office. It was small, basically a walk-in closet smashed against the auditorium, but it was enough storage room to keep Alissa satisfied.

"Oh, quit your whining."

"But it's waffle Wednesday!"

"Like you'd eat anything anyway."

Judging by her silence, Ashley was pouting, but she knew I was right. She couldn't use syrup and sugary waffles to get her out of this; we were already on the other side of the school.

"Hey, Alissa?" I knocked on her open door, letting go of Ashley's wrist and gave the woman a sheepish smile. "I have some information on the condition of Bree Davenport?"

Alissa looked a bit frazzled today. Her hair was sloppy in its drooping bun; she had heavy bags under her eyes; certainly a sight to see.

"Oh." She looked up at me, startled by my presence and my partner in crime. "Yes, of course. Come in, girls."

We stepped further into her mess of an office. She had Bree's infamous clipboard in front of her, along with several other papers with different topics on all of them. I never thought a drama teacher's assistant could ever be this busy.

Alissa sipped at some coffee. Black—no sugar or cream or anything. Yuck. "The office ladies were vague with what they told me," she informed us as she drank away. "Just saying Bree would be out for an indefinite amount of time due to personal issues on her and her family's part."

I didn't bother explaining that the office ladies were only vague with information because that's only type of information they had.

"Well, yes, that mostly covers it…" I began, only to be cut off by Alissa holding up a hand.

"You girls aren't pulling something are you? Drama students can be really persistent with what rumors they want you to believe."

I sat up straighter in my chair. Could I really call myself a drama student when I haven't even had a performance yet? Whatever, I wasn't going dwell on it at the moment.

"No, no, it's nothing like that," I assured her. "As you might know, our families are super close. Bree's absence is due to nothing too major, except she has come down with a sudden illness that is currently being taken into great care." I nodded, approved by my words. "The longest she should be out is three to four weeks."

"Weeks?" Alissa repeated, sound skeptical. "And what was the illness Bree is suffering from again?" She knew I hadn't said anything about the type of sickness it was. I could tell by the pointed look she was shooting me from over her mug. The stench of black coffee was strong and stirred my stomach.

"Oh, they're saying her symptoms lead to a horrid case of stomach flu, miss," Ashley jumped in, saving my lying ass. "But the doctors were very uptight, let's say, with the information they let our parents inform us with. But yeah, they say stomach flu."

Alissa took a long drink of her coffee before responding. I shuddered, the stench of her plain, black coffee hitting Ashley and I like a tidal wave as she let out a large breath. "Okay, I suppose I'll believe you for now." She pointed a stern finger at us, wagging it between us threateningly like it was a dagger. I guess to a teacher, it was like one. "But if I hear more coming from you two than what you told me, there will be words."

Oh. Words, how frightening.

Really, she practically had me shaking.

* * *

Lunch past by quite suspiciously, but blandly uneventful. I didn't know what it was, but something about the way Tina kept pointing and snickering at our group with her soon to be cronies, I didn't get as much of a stir out of it today. Having a best friend in a practical coma could do that to you I suppose.

Unlike me, Rachel had no problem finding something messed up about it. "She really just needs to screw off," she thought aloud. While her words were wise, they were obvious in their form as well. "I shouldn't have to put up with my own drama then her drama all stacked together like at an all you can pancake buffet. That's just too much, even for high school."

I couldn't help but agree. We each individually had our own messes to solve, and layering whatever the Walters Barbie was trying to stir up on top of it was a real distress her.

"Purple llamas smoke cotton candy."

Chase just nodded, not even hearing the gasp of surprise coming from the girls and the quiet, "I knew it!" flying out of Adam's mouth excitedly.

"Sure, babe. That sounds awesome."

"I knew it!" I cried in an accusing tone. "You're not listening to me. What's so important on that thing anyway?" I stuck a finger in front of his eyes that were glued onto the screen of his iPad.

He finally looked up, bleary eyed and everything. He looked like a drowned raccoon, and that was a pretty generous description, to put it shortly.

"Up all night again?" I asked, knowing I was right. Ever since we'd discovered what we had about Bree, Chase had been pouring himself over everything possibility of what it could possibly be. The weight of something being out of his control was sitting heavy on him; his shoulders slumped as if they carried it alone.

I couldn't imagine what it was like to watch this happen to a sibling. I already felt helpless enough as a friend, but to be really related to her? It must be twice as worse. Maybe even more so.

Chase looked back to the screen, tap, tap, tapping away at the keyboard. I tried to process what the image was, but it looked like nothing except a complex blueprint to me; it felt so weird to have an intelligent, superior boyfriend that made you feel like a moron sometimes.

"I'm measuring the possibilities of all the interactions Bree had over the few months that could have developed the virus." His teeth practically gnawed each other apart as he grinded out the word "virus."

"I'm sure she'll be fine," I tried to assure him and myself as well. "Didn't you say she broke an arm _and _a leg once when you sparred with her?"

That got some questioning looks and suspiciously raised eyebrows amongst the table.

"That was different," Chase protested defensively. "That was Spike's fault; I wasn't even conscious until after she was properly given her casts."

I'd heard several stories on Spike rearing his egotistical head at surprising moments. Apparently more than jealously and anger could make him appear when they were younger. The aforementioned incident of Bree's broken limbs happened when they were twelve and thirteen, doing a late night practice training session. I've heard of other times happening around the same ages, earliest being ten and the oldest being last year.

But this was different—he was right about that. Chase could deal with apologizing to Bree about his freaky split persona breaking a couple bones her bionics could heal in a week or two. The virus however was way deeper than shattered arms and legs could ever go, believe it or not. And it was tearing it up inside.

So now, as the girlfriend, I dealt with the guilt of seeing two people in pain: my boyfriend and my best friend. (Well, more than that I guess, but the others had resorted to sulking amongst themselves, so I couldn't really count that, now could I?)

"Hey, Chase. Sorry to hear about Brylee." Oh God, here we go.

Chase swung around to a stand from his seat, facing Tina was a fierce scowl set deep into his handsome features. His eyes were darkened into a painful glare. "Hey name is Bree," my boyfriend spat out in a growl.

"Whatever," was all Tina said impassively, batting her eyelashes and sticking out her chest as her tight tube top slipped down ever further over her booty shorts. Wrong move, Barbie.

To her great disadvantage, Rachel and the others had now risen from their seats, including me. When it came to each other, it was just natural to act as a pack, a trait that hadn't worn off from when we saved each other's asses helping Chase and I sneak around. It came in handy for moments like these.

"Screw off Barbie," Sammie barked. Her friendly eyes were hungry for a fight and ready for war, steeled and guarded. It was the fiercest I've ever seen her, and I couldn't be more proud. "No one asked for your ugly face around here anyway."

Tina went by unfazed by our group defenses. "It would be such a shame if anything else happened to her, wouldn't it?" she continued. She just didn't know when to stop.

Chase stepped even closer, his breath becoming angry pants as he growled, "What do you know? Tell me now!"

Their faces were mere inches apart and despite the circumstances, something switched on in my person somewhere and I stepped closer as well; Tina was close enough to do something dangerous like touching him.

"You can't prove I did anything."

"You're playing a risky game, Barbie," I countered, stepping up. Tina turned her attention to me, sneering like I was a fly caught in her web.

She smacked her gum loudly, making spit fly into my face. "And what exactly do you think I'm play?" she drawled it out so casually, like mentioning something as normal as a party, that it peaked my anger.

I stepped closer. "Listen here," My words were nothing but a hiss, "if you think we're going to let you get away with your big games, that's you problem. But after we get to the bottom of this, everyone will see what a cheater you are."

"Not likely." Barbie gave me her biggest plastic smile, spit a little more in face with that stupid gum smacking thing. Then she strutted away, taking such long and dramatic steps that I hoped she fell straight on her ass.

* * *

Play practice was less ugly than everyone thought it would be. Sure, Tina was still a brat, prancing around like she owned the freaking place, but that was per the norm. But what happened at lunch still hung heavy, creating very obvious tension between many of the cast players.

Ashley and Janelle were looking down the clipboard in the west wing, eyebrows furrowed. They looked at me as I sat near the middle of the stage with my script and granola bar. _What the hell?_ They seemed to ask. I shrugged and gave them a preppy smile; if they couldn't handle it, they shouldn't have signed up for the gig.

Because of Bree's absence, Alissa had asked for a temporary assistant. Ashley signed up for the job, claiming that it would make for a wonderful mark on her college applications, and Janelle joined her because no one else. Alissa was grateful for the extra sets of hands because "if she had to do any more work than what she had, she was going to scream and throw herself off stage."

Her words, not mine.

But in a weird sense, I could understand where she was going from. If Tina did more than what she was pushing already, and if fate decided it was time to throw in yet _another _curve ball, it could possible lead me to pulling out all my hair in frustration and living out the rest of my years as a bald, ticked off lunatic.

Like my fourth grade teacher.

"Hey, wanna work on some lines?"

I looked up to the shadow blocking all my script light. Callan stood there in all his school jersey and beach blond glory, acting like the God he knew everyone saw him as. Despite what I may have thought at the beginning of the year, he was actually the least source of drama I've had to deal with since the school year began. Either way, the weird, seducing looks he was slyly doing sometimes was creeping me out just a little bit.

I decided to ignore them for now.

"Sure, that'd be great." I jumped from my position on the stage and stretched my limbs, grabbing my script from my feet swiftly. "Where you wanna start?"

"I dunno—page six, scene two?" I didn't know the scenes straight off the top of my head, but I knew it was a lovey dovey scene. No kissing, that had been earlier in the play (stupid student writers putting in more lip action than necessary.)

Page six was maybe one of the worst sections of the entire script. While I had warmed up to the high school play material a bit, it was still rubbish compared to what other schools did for Romeo and Juliet. My cousin's school's version in New York was like a Broadway performance compared to this. I mean, really, the entire page was basically the two main characters having eye sex on the balcony until they throw themselves at each other in a kissing session.

That was just disgracing Shakespeare and his entire purpose of the play entirely.

"You start," I said to Callan, still looking down at my script. I knew what the page was going to say, and I knew how to devote myself to character for this scene, but I wasn't going to start. Juliet's opening line was a bit…_tipsy? _Was that the word I'm looking for? Maybe even ditzy would cover it, which was pretty offensive.

"You know," Callan said instead of his line. What he was supposed to say was, "my darling, the night's beauty be shame in thy's light." (Possibly the best line in the entire scene, no joke.) "I've been having trouble with my play memorization. Do you think you could come over tonight and help me study them?"

I tore my gaze away from his hopeful face to look at Chase, who was talking happily with Gemma as she chattered on about God-knows-what. We were supposed to have a little group session that night and ditching it for extra play practice—no matter how much it was needed—didn't seem right.

"I'm actually kinda busy tonight," I tried to say gently, purposely avoiding the deflated look that overpowered Callan's hopeful one. I felt bad about it, even though he wasn't exactly my top priority at the moment—not with a bunch of other stressful drama was erupting around me.

"But, if you really need the practice, how about I come to your place this weekend? Saturday around noon?" But I trying not to explode didn't mean I had to completely crush a guy, right? Plus it wouldn't hurt to take an hour or so to focus on something calm for a change.

Callan beamed at me. He looked like an orphan kid being adopted on Christmas. "Yes, that's perfect! See you then." He gave me one of those boyishly annoying wink-smiles before going over to a clump of extras and backstage peoples.

I was about to focus on the end of my script (the few pages I've been forgetting to study, sue me) when a pair of soft lips kissed my neck. I leaned into his broad chest as he wrapped an arm around my waist.

"Hey." My boyfriend grinned against my skin, swinging me around to face him. I smiled and daringly risked a ten second lip-smashing kiss with him. Luckily, Alissa had been cornered by Ashley and Janelle, still flipping out about how they had no clue what they were doing. "I was thinking we should do something."

"Talking is something," I pointed out. Because, even though he's "engineered to be the most intelligent being to walk Earth," a girlfriend needed to have her moments. Chase gave me look but kept his mouth shut. Smart boy.

"I was hinting that we go out this weekend," Chase replied, pulling me closer so that our breath mingled with each other's. "Because if I have to hang around for one more Hurricane Rachel tantrum, I'm going to die."

"Eh, don't worry." I patted his shoulder sympathetically. "I'll hose you off the walls."

"How kind of you to offer."

"Just doing my job."

He laughed, gorgeous brown eyes sparkling as he looked down on me. "Movies, this weekend. I know you've been killing to see that Oz one."

My eyes widened as I gripped his arm tightly, squeezing it with insane strength. "Oh my God! I've wanted to see that for months!"

"I know."

"Don't be cocky; when're we going?" I asked excitedly, beginning to jump around and clap my hands. I couldn't help my blooming excitement—Disney movies (or anything, seriously) always had a way of boosting my happiness. The thought of their always being a happy ending was so naïve and hopeful, it was hard not to love the concept.

"Saturday, 12 o'clock showing?" Chase grinned down at me, so happy and glittery eyed, that it made my heart pang as it my giddiness instantly deflated.

I couldn't do two things at once when they were across town. And ditching Callan wouldn't be fair after I already rain checked him for today.

"I…can't make it," I said meekly, looking down to the navy blue toes of my Nikes.

"What? I thought you said you've been dying to see this movie?" Fortunately Chase sounded more puzzled than angry…for now.

"I have a play practice that time—with Callan." I tried to say the last part as quietly as possible. I didn't need Chase going off or Spike making a sudden appearance to wreck everything that had been rocky in the first place. Why must teenagers make their high school lives so complicated? Especially the "highly confidential" and "bionic based" ones?

I looked up from my shoes, my free hand not nursing my script messing with the strings to my cropped sweats. Chase was strangely quiet, his face blank; I hated when he blocked himself out like that. I could hardly read him when he wasn't doing it. Sometimes it was difficult to tell if he was doing it on purpose or not—this was not one of those times.

"I see," Chase said finally, as sharp and emotionless as I expected. It still made me cringe. "I hope you guys have fun on your little _date_."

My eyes widened. "It's not a date!" I cried after him, grabbing at his arm as I hurry after him across the stage. By now our little lover's quarrel was caught by several other cast mates, including Gemma and Damon.

Chase swung back around. I took a step back in surprise at his quick movements. "It sure seems like it, with how much time you rather spend with him than me." His eyes weren't sparking any more; they just stormed sadly and angrily. He was hurt.

"He asked for help first," I tried to protest softly. "I didn't mean to—"

"That's just it," Chase interrupted. This time he sounded more exhausted than anything. "You never mean to, Chris, but someone always takes the blow from the mess. And I'm really tired of it always being me."

Words clung and stuck to my throat, my mouth as tasteless and dry as cotton as I watch my boyfriend walk away with every possible worst emotion washing over me.

Maybe I was truly learning the tragedy to my part now, thanks to my own mess screwing up everything else I held close to me in my life.

* * *

**I'm gonna leave it there, because the chapter's getting a little bit too lengthy.**

**First off, who loves the cover? I made it myself, but was inspired by a cover made from Beta from AlphaBetaSoup. (I'm not really sure if there's two of them or not, but I'm just gonna go along with it.) I made another one for Forbidden Love as well, so go to my profile and click on the story if you're interested in seeing it.**

**Secondly, I really love this chapter. Well, not **_**love**_**, but really satisfied with it I should say. I think it will definitely raise some questions out of you, some of which I hope you guys leave in a review for us.**

**Sorry for leaving you with a cliff-hanger, but it wouldn't be much of a dramatic love story if some of those weren't thrown in there. And I also apologize for the little Disney paragraph there; I just saw the new Oz movie they came out with that opening weekend and loved it. Totally recommending it.  
**

**Another important note, I will be coming out with a couple new stories throughout March-May, maybe even going into June. Two of them will be Lab Rats, one Austin & Ally, and one Wizards Of Waverly Place. If those categories/shows interest you, I suggest you keep a look-out for them.**

**I think that's it for now. Love you guys, and please continue to look for new chapters as they come along. Later!**


	14. Chapter 13

**I'm sorry, but I feel like I should give myself a freaking award for how fast my brain works. I just now sent my partner the last chapter then thought of this, though this won't be posted nearly as fast. Oh well, you guys are taking what I give you.**

**Read on, lovelies.**

* * *

_October 18__th__ 2013_

Chase's Pov

The house was quiet. Only, not really. Adam and Leo were upstairs, playing their umpteenth round of some new superhero game. I was invited to play and usually would have accepted, but I needed some thinking space.

But I didn't want to stay away from everyone either. That was why I found myself sitting next to Bree's still form still attached to many never-ending wires on the table, while I just held her hand. What more was there to do when she was hardly even there? Davenport said she could be, depending on how deep and what kind of limbo her state of mind was in, but I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure about anything anymore.

"You really need to wake up." I continued to hold her hand as I talked to her, not bothering to go into extreme detail over the events happening in advance. But if there was a chance she could hear me, Bree deserved to know there was suspect to why she was like this. But I was doubtful.

Although, I wasn't sad—not really. Being sad about something like this was a waste of time. Sooner or later, Bree would wake up, no matter what someone said. Though, I doubted it would be as soon as I would've liked. Who was going to help with Christine when my "love counselor" (as she had resorted to calling herself over the last four or five months) was stuck in a limbo of some unknown nature.

The entire world, that I once thought had been ahead of me, was now completely upside down.

Davenport cancelled the last two training sessions but assured that the next one was definite. Maybe it was best that way, I couldn't handle seeing Christine so soon after our most recent…deadlock, I guess. It wasn't really a fight—a fight was something full of yelling and screaming and anger. Our words were just defeated and hurt. Nothing like a fight.

And what was worse was that it meant two of my closest girl friends were out of the picture; what advice could my comatose sister offer me, and how well would my girlfriend act around me when we're falling apart at the hands of some cocky athlete trying to make a move on her?

I sighed, running my free hand through my hair and giving hers a squeeze (more for my comfort than hers) before dropping her hand and getting up from my seat.

Davenport had taken away most of the monitors hooked to the lines running up and down, in and out of Bree's body, but left some, like the heart monitor. Why he had one just lying around when there was a perfectly fine, updated one on his cyber net, I would never know.

I tapped away at his computer, looking at the files and charts he'd created when she fell ill. They hadn't changed since the last time he looked at them—a little over a half hour ago.

The ratings could almost be considered eccentric from how they jumped up and down all over the graph. Apparently her levels of moment were more improved at night, for reasons unknown. Over the last couple of days her twitching and tiny jumps had gotten more recent and noticeable. That was a type of improvement we had to cling to.

"Hey, Chase," Davenport said, walking into the room. I knew he was trying to hide it, but his tone was guarded. Everyone was like that around me lately. I couldn't blame them either; I'd probably act the same way if thrown into the same situation. "How're you doing?"

"Exhausted," I replied. I still looked at the screen, clicking on the chart dating back to a week ago. The lines that graphed her progress were stubs then, and they weren't much taller now. The realization deflated and crushed any hope of a decent day that I had. "Nothing's changed, except she moved a couple times this morning before I left for school. Talking doesn't help much." _And makes me feel even worse, _I added on silently, keeping it to myself.

"Well, usually comatose patients don't show any signs of movements until weeks put under—sometimes even months. The fact that she is showing progressing signs earlier is likely to her chip interfering with her strength and health levels. Or she could just be one of the lucky ones." Davenport looked to Bree breathing tiny, slow breaths at a time and then to the chart. "Let's just hope luck remains on our side for the time being."

I leaned back in my chair in front of his computer. I liked to believe it was a little bit of both—it was lucky that her chip was pulling her through this more quickly. But the thing I didn't like was him referring to her as a _patient. _She was Bree, trying to recover in the place where'd we had grown up together. That didn't make her a patient, only holding a remote similarity to one.

"There's one thing I don't understand, though," I admitted slowly. I thought to the question I'd been pondering since I saw the stress levels that had involved Tina in some way. "What other enemy did you have except Allan Grant?"

Davenport seemed reluctant to answer. "Being a successful scientist with everything can be tricky," he explained, "especially when there's more than one scientist besides you with a load of money. Jealousy and envy can turn people into ugly things, especially when they have an advanced, human level of intelligent with crazy, possible ideas. It's hard to tell who will do anything in their rage of jealousy, plus the fact their strangers."

"Or when their revenge is enough to turn their jealousy into something so bad you can't recognize it at all," I muttered quietly, swinging my chair to look at Bree.

Had my sister fallen to the hands of one raging jealous stranger that envied Davenport's success?

* * *

_October 19__th__ 2013_

No One's Pov

Christine had two hours to get ready for her hangout-slash-mini play practice with Callan. She was ready in ten minutes. Seven, even. It wasn't that hard. To help ease her troubled thoughts on the whole whatever with Chase (because fight totally wasn't it), she pretended that Callan was someone like Janelle or Leo and she was just going out with him to get something from a place as plain as a drugstore. So, she slapped on a red tank top, some black skinny jeans and matching combat boots, and threw on her leather jacket. And just for kicks, she stuck some chap stick in her pocket and made her hair into a messy bun. Because after all, it totally wasn't like this was Chase. It was Callan, what she wore around him didn't matter.

To blow time she spent it texting Rachel.

**Is she doing any better?**

_Not much. Adam says there's been a bunch of twitching._

Almost like an afterthought, Rachel shot another text her way.

_Chase won't leave her side. He's starting to worry people._

Christine's shoulders slumped. That was not what she wanted to hear. But she could understand where he was coming from. He was the most intelligent being in the world and couldn't wake up his sister; that had to be harder to deal with than she could imagine.

And she had begun to worry about how this would all affect his mysterious mood swings that had already been far past irregular before.

The alarm Christine had set on her phone went off. She hurried up from her seat and called out a good-bye to Rem, promising to make it home by dinner. Rem made some offhanded sounding comment about not worrying about it. Christine was only able to hear that as she slipped out the door.

The walk to Callan's house was peaceful, which helped ease her thoughts a little more. She pushed away the boyfriend/arch enemy/best friend/ life or death/play drama for now, instead focusing on the watching the sky and seeing the black arches of birds as they flew across the powdery blue day sky. It was abnormally quiet for a usual Saturday afternoon, but many people must've had the weekend off.

The Eastwood residence was a fancy one. It was semi-Victorian with a modern touch and a few personal splashes like the Halloween flags whipping outside in the fall California breeze. It had to be at least two stories with a basement and small, triangle attics like in the movies Christine figured, walking up the stoned pathway. A cold chill tickled the skin of her spine; the entire thing felt like a beginning to one of those horrible PG-13 horror movies no one found scary.

Christine shook off her nerves and reasoned with herself she was just nervous about meeting his parents for the first time since she's known him—assuming they were home anyhow. She rang the doorbell and patiently waited, taking in how pretty their wrap around porch was with a tiny tint of envy. It truly was a beautiful house.

A petite blonde lady, shorter than Callan, answered the door. She wore a cashmere sweater and a lovely string of black diamond around her neck and wrists. Christine resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. She never understood why people enjoyed flaunting their wealth when meeting new people.

The woman reached and vigorously shook her hand. "Ah, you must be Christine. Come in, come in." Christine could barely choke out a greeting in return as she practically fell into the house. Wow, the lady had a strong grip.

"I'm Callan's mom, but you can call me Mrs. Eastwood. Our maid Ana can and will take care of any and all your needs for your visit. Would you like some tea or maybe a lemon square?"

Christine hated lemon squares. "No, I'm quite alright. Thank you though," she added a bit hastily at the end, not wanting to come off rude and make the situation anymore awkward and one-sided than it already was coming off to be. Where was Callan?'

"Mom, I'm sure the last thing Christine wants is you pestering her with your horrible lemon squares." Wow, that boy always had the ability for uncanny timing, didn't he?

Callan himself took the stairs two at a time, sliding into the foyer with an annoyed look planted on his face, directed to his mother. "I can handle it from here mother."

"Nice meeting you!" Christine called to Mrs. Eastwood's retreating figure once she began to leave the room, muttering about how the manners had slipped the current male population of the generation.

Well, Christine thought, better her mad at her son than at her, who hadn't even been there for five minutes.

"So, should we get started?" She turned and smiled, digging into her messenger bag to dig out her handy script.

Callan beamed at her, holding his arms out in a mocking bow. "Right this way, Milady." He led her in the direction of the den. It, fitting with the rest of the house, was beautiful and cozy with antique figures of glass animals, leather bound books, and delicate china glaze vases holding matching plum colored flowers.

Why couldn't all houses be this stuck in time? In her opinion, it would make some places much prettier.

_But other places are perfect the way they are, and you know it_, a tiny little voice teased in the back of her head, her mind instantly jumping to Bree in that gorgeous, technology depending house. How one of her best friends laid there while Christine wasted her time with a cute (in a certain light) athlete who seemed intensely focused on her knees.

"You okay? Need anything—glass of water, maybe?" Callan seemed to notice her dazed look as her eyes glazed over. She felt guilty for being a rude guest, but she couldn't help but think of how badly she didn't want to be there, even with the pretty plum flowers and swirly dark Persian rugs. But a glass of water actually sounded great. Sipping on it would give her something to focus on.

"Actually, that sounds great. Thank you." Besides, a glass of water was much more appetizing than lemon squares.

Christine watched as Callan got up from the couch as maneuvered his way to the kitchen, and claimed her own seat. For a brief moment she considered texting Chase—just to check up on him—but no, bugging him would only irritate him more, and that would lead to nothing good.

"Here you go." The brunette jumped, but quickly recovered, smiling in thanks as she took the glass from Callan's outstretched fingers. It must've been lemon water, or flavored berry of some kind, she mused, watching the slight white lucid swirls twirl around with the water. Christine took a tentative sip. The aftertaste wasn't as bad (or good, really) as she had thought, but it wasn't quite typical flavored water either.

As the two began their scenes, respectively starting in different points of the room for clarity and character, Christine smiled and managed through her lines, taking whenever Callan looked down to his script to wince at the sudden, erratic throb that hit between her eyes like a mallet.

How the sudden the pounding started, she had not a single clue.

Christine took the chance one a five minute break to down her water, hoping it would help clear her head. The aftertaste was still just as bad as the first time, but she shrugged it off and flipped through her script.

"Hey, Chris, you feeling okay?" The brunette looked up quickly, regretting it once the _thump thump thump_ got worse. "You're looking a little clammy."

Was she? The last thing she felt was hot—if anything, she couldn't be any more cold.

"I'm fine," Christine tried to wave away his efforts of helping her take a (slow) seat on the couch. "I just need a little break."

The last thing she heard was Callan hurrying away to get her another cold glass of water and an aspirin before she fell unconscious.

* * *

Callan grinned manically as he entered the room, half a glass of water in hand; he knew she wouldn't need it anyway. Not after the affects took place.

Wow, Tina wasn't kidding when she said the side effects were fast working ones.

Okay, so a part of him did feel bad for having to drug a girl to like him, but this was what was best. He really only kept everyone's best interest in mind—he got a little privacy with a hot girl, her boyfriend never finds out, and everyone remained in their diluted happy fairytale. It was the perfect, on the spot plan, really.

"Oh, Christine," he said aloud, mostly to himself as the girl groaned and shifted in her spot on the couch. "What a mess you've stumbled into, isn't it?"

Easily, he lifted her partly conscious body and shoved it against the wall, he had no regrets for his actions as he set them in motion.

He smashed his lips against her.

"Kids!" Mrs. Eastwood called out, keys jangling as she walked closer to the door. Callan uttered a colorful curse under his breath as he responded back, "Yeah, Mom?'

"I'm leaving for an appoinment. Ana's coming with me to drive me back. Will you be all right on your own?"

"Yeah, perfectly fine!"

"Chiao, then. I'll be back in an hour or two."

Callan waited to hear the door slam close and the engine start up and fade down the street before turning to the loopy girl staring cross-eyed into the distance over his shoulder.

Yes, it was pathetic for a popular athlete like himself to be resorted to hooking up with a drugged corpse, but he was Callan Eastwood, and Eastwoods _always _got what they wanted.

Even if other people didn't know it.

* * *

By the time Callan was finished with his dirty deeds, he could hardly handle putting back together the picture everyone thought was there.

Christine was...difficult, to say it in a brief light. Once she got past her random bursts of contast giggles and near puking acccidents, she was the easiest girl ever. She was loud and drunken and hazy and had no clue what bumped and grinded and moaned against her.

It was pretty pathetic that he was doing her when she wouldn't remember, but beggers couldn't be choosers.

Callan was able to haul Christine into the back seat of his car, her clothes crooked and hair mused a little. But, if not looked into with a careful eye, she could pass as any other tired teen that had stayed up late and fallen asleep.

That was his exact story. When Allan Grant answered the door to the sight of his daughter in the arms of a boy who was not her boyfriend, he got a little skeptical about his reasons of being with her.

"Don't worry, Mr. Grant." Callan threw the man his best charming smile. "We were busy with rehearsing our lines and Chris just fell asleep. Where do you want to have her sleep?"

Allan directed him reluctantly up to his daughter's room, opening the door himself and setting the sleeping girl on top of her sheets. Callan merrily waved and called for the mn to have a nice evening as he pulled his car out of the driveway.

Sometimes, things were just _too _easy.

It was almost laughable.

* * *

_October 21st 2013_

Chase's Pov

Bree opened her eyes.

Once. And stared straight into mine.

I broke down the moment they closed again, the moment of recovery slipping away faster than I could run after it. Bree had been so close. I could remember the emotion, the feeling, that had looked right through me for that one second. All the pain and weakness and suffering and fragile behavior in her was thrown at me, making me lasp into a continous fit of sobs.

Davenport and the others tried to cheers up with the positives that I'd already acknoweleged. "The fact that she had even opened her eyes for a second is a miracle," he'd said. "If it happens again, more signs of the leaving illness and decreasing stress and fear rates could bring many more uplifting signs of normal activity."

But I couldn't let my train of thought focus on that, not when I cried over my sister's bod in hopes somthing idiotic and magical would happen.

Because I was stupid enough to believe in something like that happening.

Play practice dragged on as bitterly as it always had been nowadays. Today Alissa had the understudies practice with who their partners in most scenes would be. Tina and Callan dragged themselves off into a corner to begin furious whispering and hand gestures. christine met me near the center of the stage.

"I heard Bree's been making progress," she approached cautiously, acting weary as if I would strike out. "That's good, isn't it?"

"Not enough progress," I muttered sourly in dismay. Why couldn't anyone see—even my own girlfriend, the love of my life—see that not every good sign was really good, only false.

Christine dropped the subject from there. We focused on the beginning and end mostly, agreeing that the middle was too overworked (except for the kissing scene, which we did a few times.) The fight-slash-whatever the hell you want to refer to it as was dropped, treaded carefully around to help make up for some of the already there awkward tension.

Near the end of pratice was hell. Plain and simple.

"Hey, Hottie." Tina smirked at me, clearly watching Christine out of the corner of her eye like I wouldn't notice. Or maybe she wanted me to notice. I didn't know anymore. "Maybe we could meet up again this weekend?"

I narrowed my eyes at her dangerously. Her games were not catching my amusement. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Tina rolled eyes, running a hand over my chest like we shared a secret that threatened to burst through the seams at any moment. In sheer disgust, I smacked her fake nails away from me and took several steps away. Like that did anything. "Oh, come on Chase," she purred, batting herself at me. "Don't pretend like you didn't enjoy it."

"Get lost, Diva bitch, this is not your business." Christine was behind me. She'd heard everything like I thought she would. And of course took it the wrong way, resluting in what would be another hidious blow up. So much for a romantic year.

"What the hell is she talking about?" my girlfriend snapped as soon as Barbie Walters trotted away in her neck breaking heels. "Did you really have to prove a point when I hung out with Callan this weekend?"

The stage had been quiet, straining to listen in on the break out while still trying to appear normal. They were horrible at it. Somewhere to my right I heard a gasp—probably Gemma or Damon, watching the scene unfold.

"Prove a point?" I raised my voice without meaning to, but I couldn't help. What point did I have to prove when I was a damned mess? "My entire weekend resolved around Bree and her only. She is practically on her deathbed and you think that I would just throw a night away with some whore? I can't say the same for you."

Christine's nostrils started to flare. "Callan and I were practicing—"

"So that's what people call it these days? Practicing? Yeah, real classy, Chris."

She let out a mean growl to go along with her stony look. "At least I'm not using some poor, sick girl as an excuse for sneaking around with a slut!"

That tore it. All the self-restraint that had meekly held me together broke and suddenly I was nothing.

"Really? Really, Chris, you want to go there with me? Do you know how many hours I spent pouring over every damn medical book my family owns to see what happened to my sister? Do you know how many times I cried myself to sleep and you weren't there to tell me everything would be fine even when we both knew it wouldn't be? I've waited around so many damn times for you to help me with this and what do you do? You only visit Bree once or twice and go goofing off with some jerk of an athlete while I'm left a mess, stuck in hell." I stepped closer, daring her challenge a single word I said. "Because really, I don't think you do."

Christine glared at me long and hard, a scowl set my way that I deflected.

"Call me when you're not such a freaking bastard anymore."

Then she walked away.

* * *

**Sorry that I couldn't go into deep detail on what Callan did to Christine, but I'm on a writing limit, people and this story is staying T rated.**


	15. Chapter 14

**Because life hates me, my computer decided to be a major bitch and deleted the entire thing when I was halfway done with it, and pretty much every unfinished thing I had left in a Word Document. So you can pretty much say good-bye to me seemingly in a good mood or any upcoming stories for a while because it will take me forever to type and rewrite and plan again.**

**So if this chapter is shitty and all that, just remember I've been dragged through hell and really didn't want to rewrite the entire thing over again but did anyway.**

* * *

_October 24__th__ 2013_

Christine's Pov

I couldn't sleep. Or think, hardly. At 2am—instead of sleeping like a normal person should be, I spent a handful of hours pacing nervously in my room. It was too dark to confirm, but I was pretty sure I'd created a wear in a sloppy line from the corner of my bed to my door.

It's been days since the blow up with Chase at play rehearsal. Opening night was less than two months away, and everything was falling apart at the seams. A part of me would like to think that it was Tina that had screwed me over since the beginning (which, really, it had been), but the same part refused to leave Callan out of the equation. But how was he at fault? He was just another friend, like Rachel or Janelle or the other girls.

That same (stupid) part refused to let me wholly believe that, too.

I sighed in frustration, falling onto my bed with my angry stomach growling away into the night. My appetite had been suffering because of my jumbled emotions throughout the week, resulting in some bitter moods and distant behavior, especially in categories like eating habits. It was bad for several reasons, one being that had no one staying off my case like I very much wanted, but that Rem was starting to ask questions.

Now, usually any teenager would be annoyed at their parents asking questions and butting into their personal lives because it's just their generation's nature. But when Rem interrogated, it could be a bit frightening at times. Rem was one for giving advice because she usually pieced together the situation long before you decided to approach her with it.

But was my life really so complicated even my long-time friend couldn't figure it out when she knew me better than anyone?

I groaned, stuffing my face into my pillow after sparing an exhausted glance to the clock.

3am.

* * *

Bree's Pov

So much has happened. I could tell because of everything that's happened to me. Sometimes I hear voices, floating in and out of reach, just beyond my grasp. If so many feelings and worries and thoughts could swarm me, major happenings must be going on in the outside world—if I knew my friends at all, that it.

I couldn't remember much of what was before. Every time I tried, a pounding would start. It was odd whenever it was happened, but I'd completely lost all sense in direction, making everything fuzzy with up maybe being down and vice versa.

All sense of time left me, too, when I went under. However long ago that was. People—the voices I hear but couldn't put faces to—mutter about the time and how long I'd been out, but I couldn't survive the strain long enough to make out their sayings.

But from all the worry I could feel, it must've weeks. Months, possibly?

Either way, my suffering to remember or the suffocating blackness that I could never escape from wasn't the worst part. It was the crying and the worry and the emotion and the people and the _life_. It was so pulsing that it was nearly enough to charge me, but it like I was a gas tank that continually needed a charge, like I could never get filled again.

The voices—my baby brother out of all of them. Chase.

_He was crying, too._ The worst of all of them, I think.

Sobbing. Full, body-racking sobs that made me struggle and fight even more. Why would Chase cry over me unless he knew something bad could be arriving in the very near future? My baby brother was the smart, logical one—always finding reason to everything. Sure, I'd seen him panic and freak out plenty of times, but never once had he ever cried. Not in front of any one, anyway.

"Bree…" It pained me to hear him choke on my name. Something light descended on me from above; Chase must be smoothing my hair away or something. He used to do it when he was thirteen and I fourteen, suffering from a nightmare about the one day we would finally go on missions. Even then having the weight of the world on my shoulders terrified me. It still did.

Then, something amazing happened. Chase started to sing. I'd never heard him so soft and melodic before. It was nice, like a low lullaby. I couldn't place the song or comprehend the lyrics as well as I should've, but as I clung on to the way he sang the words, whispering away from me in a teasing wind, I knew it had to be one of my favorites.

My last thought before his voice completely lost me was faint even though no one was around to hear it but myself:

_Christine should hear him sing too one day. I think she'd like it, too._

* * *

_October 28__th__ 2013_

Christine's Pov

The girls and I were gathered up in Rachel's room. Trina had popped in earlier to donate some of her old magazine stacks to us; her manners had really spiked during the last couple weeks. Bree's absence was having an effect on her just like the rest of us.

Janelle and I were jammed together in Rachel's purple bean bag while Ashley and Sammie gossiped and whispered over a clump of magazine they took on the bed with them. Rachel sat at the foot of her bed with the vlog planner in hand. She'd gotten pretty serious over the vlogs. I couldn't blame her—the best thing for all of us was to go about our business, which was impossible because Bree was our business; practically. Besides, the channel had been slipping ever since Bree fell into coma, everyone too distracted to think of anything to post. I thought about doing a short, two minute news video to keep our 300-something suscribers at bay, but it didn't seem worth it.

"We need quick, fabulous costumes ideas. Halloween is three days away, ladies! We can't keep the people waiting forever; some people have lives to press play on." Rachel stood and started pacing. I watched her mildly.

I knew the real meaning behind Rachel's desperation. She got invited to the "wildest, most popular party" of the year and heard Adam would be there too, and needed some costume ideas and they had to be sexy and snappy.

Her words, not mine.

"Oh!" Sammie flew up, her raven ringlets flying up into the air as her manicured finger spastically pointed at a strutting Latina model posed a picture for a costume, practically naked. "What about this? We could do a DIY on an affordable remake of this outfit." Sammie held the article close to her chest, her gaze going off with eyes starting to sparkle distantly. "I have the _perfect _idea for a pair of red ruby shoes."

Ashley snatched the article away, looking down at it thoughtfully. "Hate to burst your bubble Sam," she said, "but, we aren't running a costume shop for sluts."

Sammie promptly stole her magazine back, rolled it up, and gave her a whack on the head. "Shut up. I figured the innocent Dorothy look was implied, idiot."

Rachel snapped her fingers, pointing at the bickering duo with a weird eyebrow and grin combo going on as she said, "you are absolutely right. If anything, the most desired look for teens on Halloween is a famous, quick outfit and I say we go for it!"

As the three had their little celebration, Janelle dug her socked toe into the colorful carpet, hugging a beaded throw pillow to her chest as she looked down, lost in thought.

I nudged her away from her train of thought; her there too long could be destructive.

"Whatcha think'n about?" I asked lightly, even though I wasn't sure if I wanted to know just yet.

"Death."

The entire room went to a standstill.

"Well," Ashley sucked in and let out a slow breath, exhaling from her nose. "That's one way to jump into the spirit of Halloween."

"I'm serious," Janelle insisted, finally looking up from the carpet. "What if something bad happens? Like, she really could be in really big trouble."

I felt my breath hitch. Ever since the incident, Janelle had been really distant on any discussions of the topic. I understood what she meant, the same thing being one of many fears as the days passed. But, Bree was a magnificent bionic being with powers even her creator didn't know the wonders too. With him, her other bionic siblings, and herself fighting this, I had no doubt that it would work out in the end.

When I voiced my thoughts, the girls nodded in agreement. "Chris is right," Rachel said while reclaiming her seat. "Bree's surrounded by the upmost modern and brilliant technology on the plant with one of the most well, hardworking billionaire scientist ever born. She'll be fine. The whole coma thing is just a bump in the road toward recovery."

"Wow," Ashley said after having grabbed an old _Cosmo_. "I never knew something so wise and non-fashion related could come out of her mouth; much less so much confidence in someone who isn't herself." She nodded, blonde hair bouncing in its messy low ponytail. "I'm impressed."

Rachel let out a snort/laugh, grabbing another throw pillow and tossing it at the blonde's head. "Oh shut up."

Soon enough Janelle and I were dragged into it and out of our (comfy) beanbag.

The rest is history.

* * *

_October 31__st__ 2013_

By Halloween, things had begun to shift—again. Because of all the old magazines and sugar rushes from dozens of cans of soda, we'd managed to get two DIYs up on the channel by midnight and felt pretty damn proud of ourselves all the while.

Chase and I had shifted too. We'd gone back to not hating each other and left the fighting behind us—for now. But he still kept to himself more than he did before, especially during play rehearsals.

Despite everything the Halloween play practice had been a blast. The girls had forced me to wear a costume to school, even though doing that was completely optional—and really not looked into in high school. They pushed and shoved and squeezed me into a pirate costume with fishnet leggings, a short, _short _red and black striped dress with a (really pushing it) red, lacey corset. I let them tie my hair back with a black bandana but crossed the line when they tried to turn me into a zombie. That was just too over the top.

Luckily, I wasn't the only one dressed in a ridiculous costume. Gemma and Damon had cheekily come as the famous duo Batman and Robin. Ironically it was Gemma who was Batman, proving who really wore the pants of their friendship. (Not that I could say anyone was surprised.) Tina was dressed as a shorter, more troll-ish like Snooki—crazy, bumped up hair and slutty clothes and all.

"Look, the tramp keeps documents," Gemma noted, pointing to how Barbie had a poor unsuspecting extra character writing down his number on her hand, giggling like a deranged idiot that we knew her of being.

"Highly doubt it," I retorted, thinking of how Barbie would ditch her hourly boy toy soon. She was only using him for now, but she wasn't through with us yet—I could feel it deep in my gut.

Gemma suddenly shot up like a rocket, snapping her fingers and looking at me wide-eyed behind her mask. "What if she moves on to Adam? Or Leo?" she said hurriedly, snapping her fingers with every word. "Chase has already been affected by her—what will keep her from moving on to another target?"

I groaned nearly falling back out of my chair in the seating area. Gemma had a point—a huge point that we had missed during our entire battle/war/whatever all this hell was called.

"What's wrong, sailor? Seas not looking so great?"

Speak of the devil—and her horrible timing.

"Listen, Bitch," I began, getting out of my seat and straightening my dress. I stomped a combat boot as I stalked into her face. "You aren't getting away with anything. With every little plan you make, we're already two steps ahead of you."

I was totally bluffing, but she didn't need to know that.

She blinked at us innocently; Gemma had gotten up to join my side. "Speaking of which, how's little miss comatose doing?"

"Don't you dare talk about my sister!"

Chase stood behind us, looming at the edge of the stage with an anxious Damon behind him. He looked down at angrily from where we stood in front of the first row. His chest rose and fell angrily, his nostrils flaring. Oh no—I hope to god Spike hadn't sprung loose.

"What gives you the right to talk about the ill that way? You have no right!" Chase called down angrily. "Shut the hell up, Walters!"

"Don't worry," Tina said back cheerily, showing her devil horns. "Little miss speedster will be fine; she won't know what hit her at all." She said her last sentence quietly, all up in our faces right back.

I gaped as she walked away. No way could she know.

"What did she mean by that?" Gemma asked, puzzled.

I remained to stand there, stunned.

How could Barbie know about our bionics? About Bree's bionics?

* * *

**Since I'm in a bittersweet mood with my sickness and all, I decided to throw in some drama and a cliffhanger, just for you. I planned on this just being a filler chapter, but it turned into something else. I truly had no idea where I was going with this, and my partner was just a road-blocked, so this was the result.**

**Review please, the next chapter might by engineered to come faster.**


	16. Chapter 15

**I love how fast you guys are at reviewing. It's kind of stunning, actually.**

* * *

_October 31__st__ 2013_

Chase's Pov

I was alone on Halloween. Well, not really alone, but Adam was too busy watch cartoons in the lab and Bree was…still unresponsive.

The lights in the living room were dimmed as I slouched into the couch. I made sure to shut the porch lights off, as if not to confuse any children on their candy hunt.

"Aw, someone having a boo hoo holiday all alone?" Eddy made his appearance, timing as uncanny as always.

"Why must he have invented you to be such a pest?" I snapped in annoyance. With my head aching as much as it was, going along with the heaviness sinking like a boulder in my chest, his attitude was the last thing I needed.

If Eddy had the choice, he was probably using the most irritated a face expression he could calculate.

"Fine, you can tell of your own company then; my screen needs its beauty sleep!"

Eddy proceeded to shut himself off. I sighed, wondering what he meant until the doorbell rang off impatiently.

And god—did Halloween have an entirely new meaning for me.

The Devil's daughter herself stood there, all lacy bra and Snooki makeup. I hoped she face planted into the sidewalk eventually that night. Or maybe the front of the truck heading toward the farthest town away from here.

"Hey, handsome."

"I thought this was obvious—you're a menace and no one likes you." I tried to slam the door in her face (hoping then that she would finally get the big picture) but unfortunately she was quick enough to shove one of her disastrous pumps in the way of the door.

She chomped loudly on whatever she'd stuck in her mouth before her uncanny arrival and made herself at home, stomping through the door like she owned the place. Not many people dared to do that in a billionaire scientist's house, unless that was the man himself.

"Whatever you want, you're not getting it," I snapped, still standing by the open door, hoping Tina would take a hint already and get her glittery ass out of my house. I was tired of playing peacemaker for everyone when she was around. She crossed too many lines far too many times—putting my sister's life on the line; nearly ending my happiness with Christine on several occasion; and now entering my own home and disgracing it on the most evil day of the year. But too bad; she was on my turf now.

Tina wrinkled up her nose like the room reeked of a bothering odor. "Don't get your panties in such a twist, Brown Eyes." She smirked, chomping even louder if possible on the wad in her mouth. "I come with news."

"Why would you want to help me?"

"Please, don't flatter yourself." Tina leaned closer, not caring as her cloth slipped and her cleavage popped. "It's just fun to watch ya'll squirm."

"Fine, rephrase—what the hell are you here for?" I tried to hide my cringe at her stepping closer, but at her evil, throaty cackle, I could guess I didn't do a good job.

She continued to laugh, popping her watermelon wad of whatever in her mouth right in my face. "

She continued to laugh, popping her watermelon wad of whatever in her mouth right in my face. "It's not me you should be afraid of," Tina snickered. I took a few more steps back, maneuvering my way behind the couch. "I'm just one of the forces that's working to take you down."

"You're human, no abilities whatsoever," I protested, trying to wrap my weakened mind around the situation. "What could you or your employer want from us?"

Tina cackled again. The dimness of the room suddenly was a major regret on my part. "You think Grantwas the only one who hated Davenport at a time? Please, that old hoot in a lab coat wasn't even the tip of the ice berg." She threw her hand out in the general direction of the lab's elevator, as if wanting to make a point by using it. "And the other one downstairs? Puh-leaze. She's just a stupid little decoy. With the pathetic state that man is in by one of his _inventions_ _failing_, it's left his other systems vulnerable."

It clicked into place. It didn't that my could've been dead, it didn't matter that several mission that considered critical couldn't be accomplished now, putting many places at risk. All they wanted was for Bree to act as another significant project to distract him. A decoy.

"A decoy?" I echoed, slowly getting more furious by the minute. "My sister is nearly dead—in a come—all because you wanted a fucking decoy?"

"Wow, that were right when they said you were the smart one," Tina said smirking. She dared to sarcastically clap as she rolled her eyes. "Good for you. Someone should give you a gold star."

"Get the hell out!" I screamed, my vision starting to go black at the edges as I stood there, muscles tensing and my blue force fields beginning to flicker in my hands.

She held up her hands in surrender, but looked shockingly unfazed. "Testy, but I'll go." Tina began to make her way out and I watched her. My hands started to go unresponsive to me as Spike tried to get more angered. "But remember," she called almost _merrily _as she slinked out the door. "One force can be in a million places."

Who else was on her team that I knew?

* * *

_November 1__st__ 2013_

Leo was telling a story is vivid detail of the comic convention that he'd dragged Tasha and Davenport to for Halloween. His costume for it had been something with tights, a title I didn't bother to remember.

Christine had come over for training, and the lab was separated sloppily into two parts. The part where we could train, and the other part containing Bree amongst her many machines and wiring.

No one was too fond of the idea of training and participating like a team without Bree well and doing so alongside us like usual, but Davenport insisted that we were lacking what was needed on urgent missions, and that it couldn't be put off any longer.

"I don't like this," Christine muttered after we did a lazy sparring match.

"Yeah, I can't say I like hitting dummies while looking at my ill, unconscious sister."

"Not that—well, yeah, that too," Christine added after gathering her thoughts straight. "I mean leaving my dad alone for so long. Recently, he's been getting worse and having…episodes…"

I raised my eyebrows at her choice of using the word "episode". When it came to the people I knew, that could mean anything. Especially when that "anything" was concerning a late-thirties, crazily working scientist trying to pull a living for his family and his inventions. The entire scenario was a stressful when even thinking about it. Not to mention the disappearing act of an abandoning wife.

But I didn't press her on the subject. Things between us were plenty rocky without any added tension.

"What's up with you?" She asked casually enough, fixing her training gloves and flexing her hands testily. "You've been spooked ever since we talked last night."

Davenport had upgraded the standard equipment for training and missions. Really, he upgraded the normal training gi to something similar to the regular mission suits, while the suits were remade with a more "trustworthy" and "form-fitting" material and a better camouflaging possibility.

"Tina was here last night." The lab froze. Christine was so stunned that she dropped the bow she had been preparing to use, letting it clatter to the floor in shock.

In our brief text exchange last night, I'd mentioned nothing the unwanted visitor, but that I had huge news to tell at the training session tomorrow. I'm pretty sure she hadn't been expecting something this bad.

"What'd she want?" Davenport asked urgently, sparing a quick glance to the monitor closest to Bree.

I looked to my sister solemnly. "She came here to warn us."

That had everyone's attention even more than before.

"She said they were out for us," I continued, looking to my sister's body. "That they were using her as a decoy."

There were growls. Christine visibly tensed beside me, while two narrow red lasers shot near my head to puncture the wall at the front of the room. Adam was angry. I knew he was, because I'd been just as furious as he was now when I first heard the words. Adam wasn't much when it came to smarts, but he understood enough when it counted.

Leo wasn't much too angry reactions, but he was gripping his pad so hard in his hands that I thought it might snap. "What else?" he asked dangerously calm.

We weren't much, but as her three brothers and her being in this terrifying state, we could get pretty overprotective.

"Did you know a lot of people don't like you?" I asked Davenport, most likely shocking everyone with my sudden change of subject.

Davenport frowned down at his cyber desk panels, the gears in his head turning like mad as he tried to click together the links of the conversation.

"Yes, of course," he started, "but they only—" he froze, nearly pulling of a knob on the panel as he looked up in realization. "Decoy," he muttered distantly. "They were using her as a decoy to get to my main systems. It was never about Bree in the first place, was it?"

I shook my head mutely.

"Those bitches!" Christine cried out, striking roughly at the sparring dummy in front of her. Her gloved fist struck at its chest with deadly aim, knocking it to the floor with a human sounding clatter. "How dare they?"

"That's not all," Leo said grimly, looking up from his pad. "I had Eddy run a security check on all the new students at school, you know just in case, and this guy—" he swiped her finger across the screen, letting a full-screen appear in the air. It showed a guy around my age with short hair, a freckled face with green eyes, and a wispy face with dramatic eyebrows. "Marcus Rune. Apparently his _parents _and Tina's show the same business record. And I doubt it's the estate listed." He swiped again, revealing a data chart stalked full of information on him and his guardians, gave us minute, then brought up Tina's, who shared a stunningly similar record like Marcus's that would have gone unnoticed by anyone else.

Christine let out another low growl, kicking at the dummy angrily. Everyone turned to look at her, waiting.

"I know that guy," she said crossly, pulling at the leather straps of her gloves. "We went to the same school two states ago. He was a total innocent-acting bastard until he started showing his true colors. His rumored reason for moving to New York was that his dad was there on business; he was always trying to snoop his way into finding out about my dad whenever he could." She shook her head, loose ponytail whipping around her head as she continued to mutter, "stupid bastard, freaking bastard" under her breath as she reached for her fallen bow staff.

"There's just too much evidence against them," Davenport said distractedly as he started rushing panel to panel, switching desks and speed crossing around the room. "They have to be in alliance together, if not working under the same employer. But who could have hired them? And what could getting into my main stream possibly do for them?"

Eddy suddenly popped up on his screen, face as cocky yet emotionless as ever. "What every other evil scientist want, Donnie," he said cheerfully, as if he was doing us a grand favor we'd have to pay back eventually. "Power and revenge."

"What did you do that would require revenge?" I asked, curious myself.

Davenport shrugged. "Revenge is like jealously guys," he said. "It's a slippery slope. People could want revenge for many things—them not getting as far as you have, or just because they think you deserve it."

* * *

No One's Pov

A loud, rhythmic knock sounded loudly throughout the house. Rem whirred close to answer it, throwing it open to see a nervous Hunter standing there, hands anxiously shoved into his pockets.

"Hey, Rem, is Chris here now?" he asked graciously, politely smiling at her as she moved away to let him in.

Rem smiled. It was a bit of a ghostly one, but a smile nonetheless. Over the years of Hunter and Christine's friendship she'd developed a soft spot for the boy, treating him no lesser than she did Christine. It was in her nature, she guessed.

"No, Hun, she's out training with the boys," Rem said as Hunter made himself comfortable on the corduroy chair diagonal to the couch. "She should be back soon."

Hunter nodded understandingly. Due to their closeness, Christine had told him about her abilities and scientific secrets soon after she had found out herself. He could relate to hectic schedules and felt empathy for her; it was hard sometimes when it was hours at a time.

"Where's Allan?" Hunter observed, taking in that the usually robed man was nowhere in sight with his coffee cup and paper. Even though it was already well past noon.

"Oh, upstairs fiddling with God-knows-what. Hey, do you mind taking watch while I check on the side plants? They've been neglected for a while now and it hasn't rained for days." Rem grabbed her pitcher of water she used on the plants to prove her point.

Hunter casually waved her ahead. "No problem," he assured with a charming white-toothed smile. "We'll only be alone for what? Ten minutes? Go right ahead."

Rem smiled and gratefully and quickly whirred to the back door to get her start on the plants.

Hunter sighed. He was bored already. Now, really, he had plenty of things to do—mentally go over the songs they'd be rehearsing at the next session, think of some more songs, get some more music videos out in the open. But no, he instead chose to sit and idly go through his phone like did several other times throughout the day. Nothing new except for his twitter mentions and timeline exploding, per the usual.

Then, everything happened fast.

The details land in place like this: first a groan. Hunter thought little of it, but jumped to his feet, ready for anything just in case. The country singer headed quietly to the stairs, peering up to the second anxiously.

"Allan? You okay up there?" he asked worriedly, starting to make his way up the stairs.

Allan didn't reply as quickly as he would've liked—not at all really. Instead he popped up sluggishly from around the corner of the second floor hallway, down from his attic/lab, Hunter thought as he slowly crept up the stairs. Who knew what could spook him while in this state?

The middle-aged man continued to slump forward, dragging a leg behind him like a bum wheel. Hunter furrowed his brows confusedly. What kind of illness was it again? He didn't think anyone knew.

_Like Christy's friend, Bree_, Hunter compared solemnly.

"You okay, Al?" Hunter asked again. He'd just put his second foot on the middle stair, gripping the banister tightly.

Another groan, but more strangled and twisted, like it was pained. Allan now crookedly stood at the base of the stairs, looking down at Hunter like he could see straight through him. His shoulders were slumped forward, nearly sending the man down. His robe hung baggily around his frail, sickly thin frame. Hunter realized the man must've been living off whatever he put in his coffee mug.

Then, that's when everything slowed.

Because he fell forward.

Hunter was astonished, to say the least. It was almost like his knees couldn't support the weight of his body, except there was barely anything to support. And instead of crumpling straight downward, Allan staggered forward and tipped his knees bending limply as he did so.

"Allan!" Hunter could only managed to cry out, darting forward and grabbing the ill man's arm. He struggled to lower the two to the ground, reaching frantically into his jeans' pocket for his phone. He'd been able to prop Allan sloppily against the banner; his head lolled to the side, nearly taking to rest of his form with it.

"911, what's your emergency?" A monotone lady at the other end asked once the ringing finally stopped.

"A man…I think he's dying…"

* * *

Chase's Pov

Training ended a half hour later, although not much except angry kicking and punching and trying to figure out what had happened had gone one.

Christine and I decided it would be best to get out for a little while, aiming to stop by a new café a couple blocks away from the downtown library.

She was putting on her jacket as I stopped by Bree. She still looked the same as the last I'd laid my eyes on her—pale and lifeless. I smoothed her hair back, even though I'd already done so before. The weak rise and fall of her breathing chest comforted me in ways no one could understand.

"You're so good to her," Christine noted as she came to a stand by my side. "Not many brothers would know what to do."

"I wouldn't say I do exactly," I muttered, adjusting the sleeves to slide down to Bree's wrist. Davenport had kept her in our regulated sleeping outfits for comfort reasons. I thought she looked cold, no matter the sleeve's length or heat. I kissed her forehead before Christine and I started to make our way out.

Before Christine's phone started to ring.

She jumped in surprise at the loud bleating of her phone, looking at apologetically as she pulled it from her pocket. She frowned down at the ID, obviously not expecting how it was.

"Just a sec," she said, walking off to the corner by our tubes. I stood next to Bree again, watching her face intensely.

I don't know which, but a few of the wires pumped the needed nutrition's into her regularly. But it didn't help how sickly hollow her cheeks were, and how sullen her entire face seemed as she laid there. I continued to smooth her hair again, imaging the comfort it brought her when we were younger. She used to have so many frightening visions back then, and had vivid detailing to them whenever Davenport asked her to draw them out. I felt as bad for her then as I do now. Why my sister that was put to go through all this? She was a good person.

"Oh my god," Christine breathed out raspily, ending her conversation with a slide of her finger. She looked up to me with wide, panicked eyes. Her faced had gone colorless in seconds.

"My dad's in the hospital," she continued rushing to the door. I followed, shell shocked.

Why must everyone I know go down in flames somehow?

It was until we were almost past the sliding doors of the lab that we heard the scream.

It was raspy and loud, gargled as it bounced off everywhere. It sounded animalistic, strangled and pained.

I turned in shock.

Her body writhed and squirmed and twitched, her head snapping back and forth wildly. Our brown eyes locked for a brief second before I burst into tears.

Bree was awake.

* * *

**That's the end for this chapter. Summer is so close and school is so close to being done, thank the good Lord. I can't wait to just have my iPod, books, my bed, and some peace finally.**

**Sorry for all the chapters being so cliffhanger-like lately; that's just how everything's planned, you know?**


	17. Chapter 16

**This is going to be a sad, sad chapter. Just thought you'd like a warning first.**

* * *

_November 2__nd__ 2013_

Christine's Pov

My back ached along with my head in a steady rhyme with my wild, anxious heart. The waiting rooms chairs were plastic and uncomfortable against my spine as I undid my curled up body from its position. I stretched and tried to keep the shriek of surprise from the stiffness from letting loose down the echoic halls.

I couldn't remember much of night's details, but what wasn't washed away from shock was enough to tell me why I felt so grim and numb and helpless.

I remembered Bree's horrid screaming as Chase rushed toward her side in an instant. His soft urging as he pulled her to him, muttering through his tears and kissing her forehead and hair so much his lips had to be numb. I remember her hoarse, terrified sobbing as she clung to him and alarms went off, everyone else rushing downstairs. The sight they came to were the two siblings huddled together weakly; I'd left without a sound.

I remembered hearing her protests of the dark, how she hated the dark, how she never wanted to go back.

Because of those handfuls of weeks, I couldn't blame her.

Shortly after I'd arrived at the hospital a mess, did Chase come. I felt guilty—the entire reason I left being so he could be there for her—but welcomed his comfort as I cried on him that night.

Most of all, I remembered Hunter with his sad eyes, staring sorrowfully at the tacky white and gray speckled tiles of the hospital, drifting there in the hospital room even after Chase was long gone (with promises to be back in the morning) and I'd had fallen fitfully asleep.

Groggily, I pulled at the elastic biting into my wrist and used it to pull my knotting hair into a sloppy low ponytail. I checked my phone. Two and the morning, but my tangled nerves and achy joints made me feel wired and squirrely. Anxious for news.

In order to get to the front desk, I had to walk out to the main hallway and swing a left until I saw the pudgy blond with two moles on either side of her face sitting at her desk hovering over a Danish and outdated crossword.

"Are there any vending machines nearby?" I asked as soberly as I could, still drowsy and wanting a nice, big bed to fall into.

"Third floor, fourth hall," her nasally voice said back without looking up. I was just grateful she hadn't found it necessary to look up and spit chocolate, stale Danish bits at me as she spoke.

I said a polite thank you and hurried to the elevator waiting at the end of the hall. I pressed impatiently at the up button and shuffled my feet until the door opened. The vacant cart opened with a uncharacteristic ding. I stepped inside and pressed the third button, leaning against the wall as I went up. My empty, sad stomach lurched as the elevator did so, upsetting it.

That annoying ding went off again as the doors open and inanimately ushered me out into the hall.

The vending machine stood like a landmark across from the glass window. It was wide and uncharacteristic light fell slanted against the speckled floor. Babies lined up in little rows in tiny glass-walled beds cried and slept. It was a cute sight.

I tried to enjoy as I paid for my tar in a Styrofoam cup. The coffee was gross, black and unsweetened and disgusting as it went hotly down my throat. But I couldn't get enough of it; caffeine charged my veins, distracting my mind if only for a little while.

I leaned against the wall, staring absently into the glass window and at my faint reflection. My hair was a mess, my clothes were wrinkled, and bag sagged underneath my eyes. I looked horrible.

Instead of going straight back to Admitting, I took the elevator up to the fourth floor—The Doom Floor as I'd named it last night. It was the floor where every critical unit possible in a hospital was; where they had put my father.

Doctors as idiots, I couldn't help but think as I stepped into the hall and out of the elevator. The halls stretched three ways into identically lit corridors. I went down the third and walked and walked and thought and walked until I reached the second door on the right, the fourth door from the end of the hall completely. The shades were drawn tight, no light escaping through. Dad wouldn't have been able to bear it—a habit for him was to have light on constantly because of late nights working.

"_His case is a special one."_

"_We haven't had patients like this in Mission Creek."_

"_The path to recovery and health is very hard to take, Ms. Grant, I hope you understand."_

Two doctors and three surgeons and all they could do was tell me the same three lines over and over like a broken record.

I sat on the bench across from his room with my knees pulled heavily to my chest. All I could think about was my dad, laying in that dark, plain room with problems while I remained outside, being thrown problems and no solutions on his case or status. He'd go in _precautionary_ surgery tomorrow morning and wasn't due to have visitors of any kinds until the following day to "spare his condition."

This was why I never liked hospitals or clinics or anything of that kind; all they kind was smile and feed your nerves a bunch of bull while they wore scrubs and held a clipboard.

Stupid, stupid, stupid doctors.

I was crushing that Styrofoam cup in my hand with that same retched coffee dampening the skin on my hand when my phone bleated in the silence inside the bland white walls. I jumped nonetheless, even though I didn't think anything could scare me as how frightened and terrified I was now.

"Hello?" I asked into the line, my voice raspy and dry as it spilled from my throat.

"How're you doing?" Rachel asked sympathetically. Her words sounded mushed, like she was speaking through a mouthful.

I blinked to the wall, pulling my phone away from my ear to check the time. 7:30 looked back at me.

Either way, it was still incredibly early for her to be calling me on a Saturday morning.

"Horrible," I said, "what the hell are you doing up this early on a weekend?"

She sighed nosily into the phone, and must've finished whatever muffin she'd shoved into her mouth for breakfast. Rachel took a couple gulps of what I could only assume was coffee—it was all she drank nowadays.

"I've been getting into yoga," she explained easily through her end of the line. "On TV sunrise was when they usually did it, so I figured I should try it."

There weren't any windows in the halls that led to a view outside. Even if there were it would only be of the huge parking lot, probably only full of anxious visitors like me or nurses and doctors coming in for their day.

"Is he okay?" Rachel asked quietly. She was so quiet her voice almost tailed away into soft static. "Has any doctors talked to you about…you know?"

The struggle that came with her trying to say those words were comforting because that meant she cared.

"They have him under lockdown in a room on the critical unit floor," I growled out in dismay. I leaned against the wall, body suddenly heavy and mind tired. It shouldn't be this way. I should be sleeping, in bed, with my father fallen asleep at his desk over his latest works.

We shouldn't be in a hospital mourning over something we're regretting the effects of.

Rachel clicked her tongue. Her muffin must've been gone now. I could imagine her sitting on her kitchen counter, picking at her yoga pants and staring at the blank space in front of her.

"Dude, I don't know what to tell you," she decided to say finally. A crackle erupted; she sighed loudly. "I'm not gonna lie, because I, as a best friend, know lies will do nothing but worsen it in the end. But from where we stand, anything can happen, Chris, whether we like it or not."

I held the phone to my ear, numbly staring ahead. "Thanks for trying," I told her. And I meant it.

We said our goodbyes and hung up, leaving the dial tone to ring on merciless in my ear. After a quick second of consideration, I dialed his number.

While I waited, I thought back to my childhood. It was a spacey one, everything a big blob here and there. But I do remember everything pretty much the same: big. So big that people looked like mountains and trees. I liked it then, being so tiny and able to squeeze in the smallest of spaces, even with the trips here to there, school from school, class to class. My teachers were so fond of my size as well it seemed, being no bigger than a minute.

I wish I had power now; being so small nothing would bother with me, the grownups and big people willing and having to take care of all the world's problems.

Now it felt like the entire world was watching my every move; each person breathing down my neck. Picking and picking to see what made me tick.

* * *

I didn't remember falling asleep. By the time I wake up its well past noon and the hospital is alive with moving doctors and visitors. The halls smell more thickly of bleach and starch. Almost like a swimming pool, in a way.

Despite my long, fitful sleep, I felt less irritable than earlier.

"About time. The doctor came by. Twice."

I jumped at the voice of my boyfriend beside me. I didn't even notice my head being on his shoulder, resting their as he sat like a pillow. Maybe using him as a makeshift sleep space was what helped me get back to sleep somehow.

"When'd you get here?" I didn't remember seeing him before I went under.

Chase smiled down at me wryly. "About an hour ago. Bree was the one who convinced me to come. But I didn't want to let her out of my sight."

I nodded, just then comprehending his earlier words. "The doctor, which one?" Since my hysterical arrival, I'd encountered several meetings with a handful of doctors. Their names and faces blurred achingly in my head.

"Something Wyatt?" Chase suggested, sounding distant. "It doesn't matter—I didn't hear a word he said…"

"What? You didn't listen to the doctor that was conversing about my father's health? And you didn't bother to listen?!"

Chase shook me off, staring ahead, at the small plastic slot outside my father's unresponsive door, the one that held the clipboard.

"I didn't have to. The doctor came two hours after I did. But by then I didn't need him."

I furrowed my brows, suddenly confused. "And why is that?"

"Because I already knew before anyone told me."

* * *

_November 5__th__ 2013_

It's been three days since chase broke his news. His new ability. It wasn't much of a surprise that it came, more than what it was. Davenport said that Chase's now powers offered him a unique scanning procedure that occurred whenever someone was in a strange physical or mentally ill state.

"It's incredible," Davenport muttered now, leaned over his cyber desk in fierce concentration. "When I created your abilities to suit each one of you, even I hadn't known the power held within them. But this—this breaks all boarders in scientific discovery…" He went off again, mumbling so low no one could hear what he said.

Chase and I sat together on the stools, Bree on the floor in between my knees. She kept her head down as I absently braided her hair. Wrecking it, and starting all over again.

"But what's its quality?" Chase wanted to know. "Is this app specifically emergency rated like the override, or can it be used more of a daily kind of thing like my senses?"

Davenport finally looked up at us again. "Well, I guess for now you save it until the need comes along otherwise, like for victims at the scene of a mission, or something along the lines of that."

Bree looked up, sleepy. Chase smoothed her hair away as I leaned into him, kissing his temple. "What about Grant?" she asked sleepily. I had a feeling that if I were to lean down to look at my pant leg, it would be covered in a tiny spot of drool. "You never told us what was wrong with him."

Chase looked down, his fingers nervously drumming against his thigh. "It all came at a rush at first," he confessed. He kept his head down as he spoke, everyone having to strain to hear. "It was so odd. Medical histories and patterns whizzing at me in a weird jumble. My brain works like a computer; it was like files being stored by the dozen at a time."

"What'd you get out of it?" Leo said from his chair. "I mean, you couldn't have seen all that and come up clueless."

"It was so odd," Chase continued, "Words that involved the heart kept staring me straight in the face. Words like minor heart failure and heartbreak pounding at me like hammers. It made me feel sick—lightheaded."

"Heartbreak?" I echoed, releasing Bree's hair as it fell from between my fingers to rest against her shoulders. "Do you think his interaction with my mother triggered all this? That he's suffering heart failure because of her?" Anger began to spill from me, my skin prickling at my neck and between my eyes.

"Not necessarily," Davenport explained, handing me his iPad. I scrolled through his brief, vague notes that'd he'd written. I felt like I was reading Chase's calculus notes; only he understand them fully.

"Heart failure and heartbreak suffering are two different things"—but he shrugged, looking at me with measured pity—"but both are deadly enough on the right person."

I gripped the iPad in my shaking grip. "So we can do something, can't we?" I asked the room desperately, feeling my chest swell and inflate like a balloon. "Are we really just gonna sit back and let the doctors screw everything up."

Bree spoke from between her knees. "We can't do much there as much as we could do here. We have more of an access here to them with Chase knowing his medical history now. At the hospital it's more likely we'll get kicked out more than accomplish anything.

"She has a point," Leo agreed. "Plus it's not like Super Girl is up for anything mission-y anyway. Not without fainting or corrupting the entire operation."

Davenport nodded. "Here's the layout: Over the next few weeks I'll work with Chase on retrieving the files he'd gotten on Allan while you, Bree, and Leo look into his and Maria's past—especially hers." He pointed at me while he said this, looking for my confirmation. It was all on me. "Sound good."

I nodded, my stomach knotting. "Let's do it."

* * *

**I feel like crying whenever I get your reviews; keep this in mind while you flatter the story, if you do at all, kay?**


	18. Chapter 17

**I've feeling pretty confident with my pace of chapters now. Especially with all my summer stories stacking up on me.**

**Some story release dates at the bottom A/N.**

* * *

_November 6__th__ 2013_

Chase's Pov

"What're you doing?" I looked up from the computer and beside me was Bree. She looked exhausted in her tank and shorts, huddled into her robe like she was shrinking. A gray mug with steam rising from the surface was placed in her hands.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. "Just some research."

Bree handed me my own mug before setting hers down. Her sad highlighted the bags under her eyes as she pulled her knees up to her chest.

Looking at her sitting there, folded into herself, I suddenly felt the oldest. My sister looked so tiny and vulnerable, it was hard to think of her as my big sister.

"What are you thinking?" I asked. Bree still looked to space, eyes not seeing anything.

"We're bionic. We're the most highly trained, elite team of superheroes made to face any situation and dispose of it before the rest of the world is affected." Bree looked right at me with enlarged, glassy eyes. "If we can save a world full of strangers, why can't we save the people who matter the most to us?"

She wanted an answer, but I couldn't give her one unless I was willing to lie to her; I wasn't.

"You want to know something? I was thinking the exact same thing when I couldn't help you."

She shook her head tiredly, like it weighed a ton. "You shouldn't've been. I was okay in the end; I'm bionic with the kind of system made to fight whatever it was. I'm not anything to worry about."

I hugged her. I held my sister close, reliving the feelings of lost and depression and hopelessness. Bree felt tiny in my grasp, me squeezing and squeezing like I thought she would disappear.

Bree sunk into my hold, sobbing. Our family had grown on rare sincerities because of what we were—but it felt good. It felt good to hold each other and cry for the first time in years.

* * *

Later that night, I put Bree to bed. Her face was still cracked with dry trails leading down her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and red as I carefully set her in bed. Davenport had strictly instructed her to take a dose of the specific medication he'd personally subscribed to her to help make sure her stress levels didn't resort to their insanely bad levels like they did before. But Bree was tired and obviously asleep. I didn't feel like waking her now; the peace on her face easing me from the scrunched up pain it usually had.

God, sometimes I thought about Bree going through this, how I nearly destroyed myself, and knew I wouldn't make it if Christine ever got this kind of abuse from whoever the hell was screwing with our lives.

I pulled the blanket snuggly around her shoulders, pushed away the hair falling into her face, and clicked the light off, making my way out. The door closed softly behind me with a click.

I dragged myself back down to the lab, taking a seat in front of Davenport's computer once again. I knew what I was supposed to do, but everything I tried or needed to do to proceed with my research flipped blank in my head.

Everything was set in motion for the most part. My newfound ability hadn't been used since we'd discovered it, never rearing its head again. Not that I knew how to flip it on and off like a switch either. So far, we'd look into some old documents of general patients' reactions to the type of diagnosis that came up during the whole incident—the heartbreak especially.

The accessed files (the illness mostly being found in shocking cases of early twenties to mid-thirties in women and men) were pretty vague in themselves. Each precise note consisted of charted information put under sections, written specifically in bullet points. I had a strong feeling actual files held more than the computer backups did.

At around 2 in the morning, I decided to call it quits, numbers and words hanging behind my eyelids when I closed my eyes. As soon as my body hit the sweet mattress of my bed, I fell asleep instantly.

* * *

_November 7__th__ 2013_

The next morning I woke up late. Christine was, surprisingly, downstairs, enjoying waffles drenched in syrup like the rest of them. She looked horrible—I felt bad to say—with huge bags under her eyes, the top of her hair frizzy from sleep and lack of combed attention, and a deeply printed scowl on her face as she shoveled in food.

"You're late, Franken Genius," Leo pointed out. He said this to me around a mouthful of sugary cereal, milk dribbling down his face. Hastily he wiped at his face with his sleeve while I snickered.

"Well excuse me for staying up and doing my part of the investigation," I said, grabbing a glass and filling it with juice as Bree perked consideringly at the mention of the investigation itself.

"That reminds me," she said thoughtfully, scrolling through her phone. "I was up early and decided to do a little bit of prying." She wrinkled her face up at her phone's screen as she talked. "Maria's one complicated woman."

Christine snorted, her lips shiny with a slim coat of syrup. She poked her tongue out to lick her mouth clean of it. "You don't say," she mumbled into her plate.

Bree ignored her, continuing to scroll. "I took to looking to a bunch of paparazzi sites and, you know, the regular social media sites. While Maria keeps to herself mostly, fans—seemingly the same ones, I think—have a Facebook page and about half a dozen Twitter accounts dedicated to saying where she is and what plays she'd be performing. But lately there have been some pictures floating around about her and some 'shady guy seen hanging over her arm'…" she paused, looking down again, "or so said by MariaFan1991."

"Anything on the said by the paparazzi?" I asked. I couldn't help but be a little curious, looking over her shoulder over taking a large swig of juice.

Bree shrugged. "Nothing much; they're basically turning her into any other shady star seen with a man not thrown into the spotlight before," she said, "but there is a common thread throughout all of articles—they're obviously very exclusive, whether dating or not."

"That could explain the whole heartbreak thing," Leo said.

Christine looked conflicted, different emotions passing over her face in a second's time before she settled impassive and stony again. "Not really. My father had never been one for internet unless it's absolutely needed for a kind of research topic—he'd always been a book kind of guy." Her eyes grew weary and distant. "I highly doubt that anything on the internet had affected him as badly as seeing her had.

"Well, let's think about this on the bright side for once," Bree cut in, always the optimist. "Many of the blogs and articles and sites had been very vague about the man and hers relationship—or relation period. And have any of us actually seen pictures of her manager? Or any friends?"

"Because she's too bitchy to have friends," Christine interjected bitterly. Her fork made a sharp stabbing motion into her waffles, the end of it cutting brutally into the sugary skin of her food.

Bree steadily ignored her again. "And at many times, people accuse more than they know, thinking that just because they see it right in front of them, it's true. So, really, we could be getting too far ahead with ourselves."

"Ugh," Leo groaned, suddenly pushing away his cereal pull in distaste. "All this love triangle mystery mojo is making me sick. But if there really is a baby daddy involved I'm totally dropping out."

Christine bent her head forward, gagging on her food.

* * *

"Hell yeah they're together," Rachel said. Everyone was together before homeroom, gathered around Bree's phone as she held it out.

Rachel squinted, leaning forward for a better view of the screen.

"How can you tell?" Sammy asked, using her bony shoulders to push herself forward.

"Duh," Rachel insisted like it was obvious, but I couldn't help but admit I too was curious on what she saw in the picture that convinced her of it so surely. "You see his arm around her shoulders like that?" She tapped a nail to how Maria had her side facing the camera, obviously distracted by trying to get into the car. The man too looked busy with escorting her inside. "That's an insanely protective gesture—usually seen in friends with benefits or totally committed relationships that have been under way."

Janelle twisted her face up, giving Rachel a sideways glance. "Dude, you so need to chill on the romance novels and TV."

Rachel stuck out her tongue.

"That aside," Christine said hastily. She fidgeted with the straps of her backpack in a haste to change the subject. "How am I supposed to focus on the play that's coming up next month? It's not even five weeks away and everything is falling apart." She groaned, leaning heavily into me. I kissed her head, pulling her close.

Ashley flapped a hand at her, not concerned. "You guys need to take a minute and breathe." She did an example before plowing on, chumping loudly on her gum as she did. "The problem isn't really as big as you sissies are making it out to be." She pointed at all of us with waggling fingers. Bree yawned and leaned on Janelle tiredly. "It's really just different fragments of several not connecting situations—albeit bad ones—linked only to the same people. So really, to find a calmer approach to each one, they have to be dealt with the same tactic, but with different solutions."

Ashley grinned proudly as we all stared, bewildered.

"I told you," Sammie said, patting Ashley's shoulder in a congratulating kind of way. "If we kept digging and digging we'd find something eventually."

Adam, on the other hand, remained looking quizzical. "She lost me after you guys…"

Rachel poked his stomach. "And we expect nothing less."

The way she ogled him was a bit disturbing, but I figured I looked the same way whenever catching sight of Christine. I couldn't judge.

"Hey guys," my girlfriend spoke up, nudging to where Bree was basically asleep on Janelle's shoulder. "Maybe Bree should take a cot in the nurse's office to lie down a bit."

Bree drowsily lifted her head, waving away our concern. "Whatever, I'm fine. Just a bit tired from the meds and getting up early is all."

"How early were you up anyway?" I asked.

She kicked at the ground. "Six, maybe?"

"Really hoping for the raccoon look, were you?" Leo said with raised eyebrows. "Congratulations, you've succeeded."

Bree scowled, kicking out at him. She gave a satisfied smirk once he let out a yelp of pain, her boot swiftly making contact with his shin. Bree went back to leaning heavily on Janelle. "I was deeply committing to my research, unlike _some _people." She gave him a pointed glare.

Leo cleared his throat. "Ahem, for your information, bossy, Christy and I have a study date in her attic." He threw an arm over my girlfriend's shoulder.

Janelle gave him a hard stare. "Don't press your luck, Dooley."

Leo immediately let go.

Good, now that Janelle threatened him, I didn't have to do it.

"And it's not a date," Christine insisted, taking a good shove at his shoulder. "It's simply an investigation."

"Sure," Sammie deadpanned, "only you guys can call an investigation—a police tern, mind you—simple."

We split apart not soon after that, Christine and I dragging Bree to her homeroom before heading to ours.

That was basically the gist of my day, with spending time mentally going over everything I researched instead of really paying attention to the teachers.

Play practice was pretty much the same story, except not.

Alissa was gone again for play practice, but left no explanation like last time. My brain instantly just had to configure the most occurring as for why this was, but I decided to chalk it up to being a spur of the moment leave, like she hardly knew she was leaving until she was already mostly gone. There was a sub this time—a wiry, jumpy man in his mid-thirties with already heavy gray streak and several stress wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He told everyone to call him Mr. Pecker. Since he had no experience with teaching a teenage cast or teaching Drama in general, we were squeezed into the first ten rows of the auditorium to watch a non-related film to Romeo and Juliet—Gnomeo and Juliet apparently.

"What do gnomes have to do with the tragic love story of star-crossed lovers written by the most excellent playwright of all time?" Christine asked as the movie began, snuggling into my side. I pressed my lips to her temple, rubbing circles into her hand.

"I have no idea."

We were in the third row from the front, a decent view of the shady screen above the stage - and, unfortunately, a perfect view of Tina and her cronies: Callan, and the other new guy, Marcus. He was evil alright, jumping eyebrows and all. But he wasn't much of a spy, his weaknesses blunt and obvious when it came to getting answers to major questions. They came out too abrupt and off-topic to not be suspicious. Either way, Tina seemed to enjoy rubbing in the fact she was sitting with two guys, shamelessly ogling both of them.

Maybe that was a good thing; it kept me off her flirt list for a while, anyway.

Throughout the entire movie, I kept a watchful eye on Tina and her boy-toys of the week. Callan seemed pretty comfortable with her for having his eyes set on Chris for months, but I left it alone for now because his being involved with the She-Beast was a lot safer than him being involved with my girlfriend, where plenty of things could go wrong.

Christine fell asleep halfway through the movie. By the looks of it, so did half of our cast, including Gemma and Bree. Damon was staring down the entire time, so either his phone was out or that guy was extremely too obsessed with the crotch of his pants.

The new guy Marcus seemed obsessive with the clock and then typing way at his phone every seven minutes. I watched his head bounce from the clock hanging on the left wall to what I assumed was a phone in his hand. Whoever was on the other end, seemed extremely concerned in what happened every minute of play practice.

Once the movie finally ended, I nudged Christine off my shoulder, noticing a dark spot of drool covering a good amount of my shoulder. She looked around confused for a minute, shaking her head before standing and stretching. I kissed the spot of her side where her shirt pulled up. Christine laughed then whacked me away from her.

We went outside, meeting up with Ashley, Janelle, and Bree. Apparently they'd sat together in a row or so behind us, where Bree had napped on Ashley's shoulder.

Ashley looked down to where her bare shoulder and tank top strap were shiny. "Bree!" she groaned. "Why do you have to be such a drooly sleeper."

"Not a word," I pointed out as Bree looked down sheepishly.

Bree shrugged. "Oopsies."

Christine laughed, kissing me full on the lips with her hands tangling in my hair for a quick second, before pulling away and adjusting her hoodie around her.

"Later people," she called over her shoulder, walking away from our group. "I have a nerd waiting at home!"

* * *

**I know the last and this chapter have all been like 1000 words shorter than usual, but I swear to God the next chapter will be much longer and more important.**

**Until then, please review, and share your thoughts and ideas with us, bye!**

**PS: new LR story coming out between now and a couple of weeks. A new A&A story on the way for, like, June I think. New Jessie one-shot due between tomorrow and next week. Keep on a look-out for those.**


	19. Chapter 18

**Hey guys. In a couple weeks or so I'll be coming out with a new LR story called Different Summers, so right now I'm splitting my writing between that and this.**

**Sorry if updates get a little sluggish. (But not like that weren't like that before, right?)**

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_November 6__th__ 2013_

Christine's Pov

To be completely honest with myself, I expected nothing less than the sight I got when coming home.

Leo was comfortably stretched out on the couch, a freshly made cookie in his hand with several crumbs littering the corners of his mouth. He didn't seem to care, idly flipping through a comic book I assume he'd been carrying around in his backpack.

"Glad to see you had no problem making yourself at home," I teased, although I really didn't care. Rem probably didn't either, just happy to have another mouth to feed—at least for the time being. It was a good thing, too, because Rem was one to take her feelings out with cooking or baking. And today it just so happened to be cookies. Lucky Leo.

Leo waved his half-eaten cookie at me as I passed. "Hey! If the female population didn't take so long getting their stuff done, I wouldn't be two comics and four cookies deep now."

I stored his accusation away, having a feeling his words could come back to bite him in the ass later. And it would be fun to watch.

After flinging my stuff on the counter, I helped myself to some cookies myself before joining Leo on the couch. The cookies were sweet and warm, melting on my tongue as I swallowed; peanut butter chocolate chip—my ultimate favorite kind of cookie since I knew such a treat even existed.

For a while we just spent time hogging down cookies and flipping between different cartoon channels, Leo absently flicking through his comic again.

This was why hanging out with Leo was cool. Sure, he may have been a nerd in a sort of light, but he was pretty cool. It was nice to have a childish friend to just chill out with when in the middle of all the scientist and family and life drama in general.

But after watching two _Ben 10_ episodes in a row, I stood and stretched. "We better get started," I said, clicking my phone on. 5:32. We'd been cookie eating and cartoon watching for a little over an hour; and who says smart people can't procrastinate?

Leo groaned, but slapped down his magazines. "There better not be any mushy-gushy photos up there," he warned as I led the way to the attic. "Because if so, I'm not responsible for what is left up there that had come from my stomach."

My face twisted up in disgust at his warning. Did boys really have to blow everything out of proportion like that? It's not like they're complaining when it's happening to them in real life…

I yanked open the door that revealed the attic steps after digging out the key from a hanging plant nearby. The key stained my hands with soil as I patted back into place. I stood aside, letting Leo go first.

He shook his frantically at me and pointed a scrawny finger up the steps. "No, no, no—ladies first."

Oh, so now it was okay for him to be a gentleman.

Again, I stored this information away for later events and scurried up the stairs, leading to where I had to hit at the stubborn wooden panel.

Our attic wasn't the biggest in the world, but not the smallest either. And oval window was cut out of the ceiling near the left wall, bringing in an odd patch of light. My dad's desk with scattered papers and computer monitor sat dutifully on guard across from where the panel opened up. The rest of the wide space was taken up with over flowing boxes worn from being moved so much. Each was covered in at least an inch or so of dust; we were never one to open up more than we needed to about or past.

It was a motto of sorts in the Grant family, and man did we stick to it.

"Well," I said standing and clapping my hands together. "Let's get started."

"Wait, wait, wait." Leo put up his hands like a traffic cop. "You actually want me to touch those?"

I scowled and pushed toward a tower of boxes almost taller than he was. "Just shut up and get busy."

He grumbled something under his breath about the bossiness of women, which I decided to ignore, for now.

I started to the opposite side of the room, plunking down in front of an old oak chest that looked like something I would've put my toys in when I was little. We didn't begin the whole moving around business until the summer before sixth grade, so it seemed likely enough that I had something like this. But why would Dad take so much care into carting it everywhere when all he did was shove it into an attic? Usually, my cousin Ella and Aunt Wendy let us keep our other stuff that we didn't take with us in a Grant storage unit in New York close to their apartment. It peaked my curiosity as to why this specific chest was so important to Dad; I figured it wouldn't kill anybody if I took a little look-sy. Just to see, of course.

I popped open the stubborn little hatch, the large lid coming up with a creak and a spray of dust that came right at me. I nearly dropped the top, waving a hand to clear the air in front of me and desperately wiping at my eyes, stinging and watering. I coughed and coughed.

Leo snickered. Blindly, I grabbed the first thing front the trunk (which, by the yarn-like feel, thick fabric, and different plastic parts, I guessed was a doll) and chucked it far. I grinned in satisfaction as it hit him and bounced off with a _thunk_. He let out a whine, and I went back to my digging, my eyes now partly clear.

My vision now clear of stinging tears and blurriness I continued with my digging. For the most part the chest featured the typical kid things, well-worn with age: coloring books with yellowed pages; dolls in pretty dresses with porcelain faces layered in dust; tin full of crayons that had long past gone dead; papers by the dozen just full of scribbles and sloppy handwriting.

A smile tugged at my lips as I carefully put a lost photo in my hands. It was ripped in the bottom left corner, crinkled but still with its (albeit fading) color. But something seemed off. I looked down harder, looked down on the little girl with the bouncy dark curls and pretty polka dot dress and big toothy smile, her small hand captured in a wave as she was carried proudly in the arms of a beautiful woman sharing the exact facial features and innocent way of smiling. But something wasn't right…

"Hey, I think I found something!" Leo shouted from his spot amongst the man boxes. "Chris! Come look."

I dusted off my butt and picked my way across the room, kneeling next to him. In front of us laid a bunch of photos. They mostly featured Maria and a much younger looking version of my dad—all happy smiles and lovesick eyes.

I smiled faintly at their little moment, frozen in a time where nothing was wrong and nothing ever seemed to go any way but right.

Damn, I wish that was my life right now.

But something's still of about the pictures—no, no, about Maria herself actually. Despite how happy and serene she was captured, something so good and pure was erased from the version I saw of her just months earlier.

"Look at that," Leo mused, a scrawny finger blocking the top of her head in the middle picture. In this one Maria wore sweats and a huge T-shirt, lounging in a big recliner as she curled up with a book, a lazy smile curled faintly on her lips. Her wispy hair is thrown up into a bun.

Suddenly, I realized the outstanding information before Leo even said it.

"Your mom was a blonde?" He asked, looking over at me to make sure he had his assumptions right.

I looked to each picture again. And there, matching with her beaming smile was Maria light and _blonde_ hair. I'd always known that Maria had a thing for switching her style—one minute casual to typical country club owner wife to high heels and pencil skirts. That included her hair, Dad told me once, and how he'd only seen her natural hair color for what had to be barely a week.

"She was the most magnificent blonde I'd ever seen," He'd told me on a rainy road trip to another state, adventure bound for a new home, only to be left behind a handful of months after.

There, sitting in front of the mother I could've—should've, really—had, I had to agree with him. I traced the picture on the right, straight across from me. Taking in her sweeping blonde hair as her dark and bright eyes told an enchanting and secretive story behind the rim of her coffee mug. Even though you couldn't see her thin lips, it was implied of her big, laughing smile.

She didn't look any more beautiful now, with her pale, blue vined skin and dark, almost disastrous curls chopped to scoop down to the top of her shoulder blades. She didn't look any less either, but the woman I saw months ago—her large contrast to the woman in these photos could not be denied.

"What should we do with them?" Leo asked after quite some time.

I stood, tripping my way through boxes until I reached a bin full of extra supplies in case Dad ever reached the mother lode of work and charts and boring things that was picked out in the scientist community.

I slid the lid to the bin back on tight and gripped the slim manila folder and black Sharpie marker in my hands. Leo sat aside and watched as I smoothly slid the photos into the folder, marking the tab as P.M. before tossing the marker over my shoulder; not like anyone kept a strict marker count, not in our mad clutter of things anyway.

"This is our collector," I told Leo, shoving it at him. "Now, we shoo. This place is just asking for a snot rocket." I waved my hand the dust particles floating lost through the air.

Leo took his time with clomping down the steps, not noticing how I slipped back to that chest, carefully sliding that picture home in my sweats' pocket.

This would be my moment of her—_with_ her. A moment not lost in all the yelling and door slamming, the cookies anxiously baking and melting to ease the storm that raged inside, between every one of us.

No matter who tried to bury her, Mother Maria was there somewhere, and now she would be held in my pocket, reminding me that I just had to look for what I somehow knew had been there all these years.

* * *

_November 7__th__ 2013_

That night I had wicked visions. They were neither as horrid as a nightmare, nor as pleasant as a dream.

I was running through the hospital, each hall and doorway stretching before me like a maze. Whenever I blinked or tried to find a different route, it grew more twisted and complex than the last. There was urgency to my games, running and panting and screaming for a doctor, although they were as useless in my vision as they were in real life.

The next, I was there, but not in a way. I could see everything happening around me perfectly, but no one else could see me. The room was dark like a basement, a single steel table in the middle with a dirty light fixture swinging lowly from the ceiling.

A tall man with a skinny build stood on the other side, sleek in black and hair gel. Another figure, this one sitting down and a more feminine shape, face him with their back to me.

The man was silent but he mouth moved angrily, like he was shouting at the woman for grim mistakes. The woman shrank in her chair, her back still to me as she began to cry back. But her words were not for the man, but for me. And I could hear them over the empty screaming of the man.

"Run, Christina! Run, run now!" She continued on like that, only whipping around to face me.

I gasped, my eyes popping open as I laid there in a cold sweat. Now usually, being in a cold sweat would also include jumping out of bed and screaming your lungs off. But no, because I wasn't enough to do so, and two, I was confused on hell.

Why would Maria call me Christina?

I stumbled out of bed, my head hurting as I groped my way to the bathroom. By the time I finished all my duties there, my pajama shirt was stained with dribbled toothpaste and my hair was down, but still frizzy at the top and ends.

I had no energy to make an impression, not that there was anybody to impress besides Chase, which the boat had sailed right on through thankfully. In a rush I threw on my navy blue skinny jeans and white sweater, pairing it off with my black Vans and messy bun. I slapped on a blue and gray rope bracelet and owl ring before deeming myself finished, quickly heading downstairs for breakfast.

Rem's worry-slash-sugar fetish crept into her pancakes. By the time I flung my bag onto the couch to wait for me, there a stack of three syrup-coated chocolate chips and caramel pancakes waiting for me with a tall glass of chocolate milk.

I heard her phone worriedly chattering in the other room and assumed she was on the phone. I quietly sat and dug in, three huge bites into my first pancake before I decided that the suspense was killing me and I just had to know.

I always found it weird to watch Rem talk on the phone. We had a single house phone that usually the machine picked up for either Dad or I to get later when necessary. Rem usually ignored it, going about her daily business as if it never rung once. But I knew she heard it. So on the occasion she did pick up the phone, it was odd to just watch her act so casual with a phone, like watching foreign objects interact with each other and finding out that it all blended it smoothly with the rest of the fast-paced world.

Rem sounded nervous. "Why yes of course, I am left to be her guardian in case he's unable to proceed in part of her care."

I scrunched my eyebrows, leaning in further by pressing myself to wall. Who could Rem possibly be talking to—especially when it concerned her guardianship over my care?

There was a long pause. Then Rem made a scoff. "That woman in unstable…of course there is no need to bring in a lawyer! All cons of leaving Christine in that woman's care were shown and proven during the court meeting…she has no jurisdiction on her side. And with that crazy man on her side—that's too unfit an environment to leave a high school junior in. She has her studies and education to consider, and leaving her with the lady that caused a post-traumatic stress to her own father!"

Another insanely long pause and what sounded like a lot of loud yelling on the other end. "I don't care about the current situation. Nothing has changed about the agreements. Allan decided with the court that if anything were to happen, I would watch Christine while such conflict is under way. Maria has no part in the agreement! Now, goodbye!"

Rem slammed the phone down in a rush, whirring loudly in my ears. Her gears always managed to whir faster and fast with steam slipping from a loose spot that formed her right shoulder blade whenever she got upset or frustrated.

I quietly slipped away from my hiding spot and went back to my sticky pancakes, now cold from me being away from them to long.

Rem isn't far behind me. "Oh!" she gave a startled whir, her image slightly fizzing like it normally did when she was surprised. "I didn't hear you get around."

I shrugged, putting in a mouthful of pancake. "I heard you yelling," I tried to say around a swallow of chocolate chips and batter. "Who were you talking to?"

She fizzed again. "Nothing important," she clucked, busying herself with putting away her dirty mixing bowl and spoon. "When do you plan on your next trip being to the hospital?"

"Bree, Leo, and I were planning on going after school," I said after a huge swig of chocolate milk. Its sweet on my tongue as it went down my throat. "Chase said he really wanted to come with us, but he's caught up in the lab."

"You four've been awfully busy with investigating lately," Rem said thoughtfully, "Anything I should be worried about?"

I took another huge bite of pancakes; four bites deep into my second one. "No…"

Rem went silent for a couple minutes. "Fine," she decided on finally, taking away my plate. "Just be careful and don't make me get a call from the police saying you've been violating hospitals laws."

"Please," I said, "When have you known me to get caught?"

I finished of my chocolate milk, bidding Rem a goodbye before grabbing my bag and hurrying out the door.

The guys weren't outside at our normal meeting time. I found that weird and was tempted to wait a couple minutes to see if they would show but with a glance at my phone I saw that it wouldn't do me any good for me already running late.

I made it five minutes before homeroom, hurrying to my locker to see a cluster of girls chattering away in front of them. But, still, our group looked too small.

"Where are the others?" I asked, pushing Rachel aside to get to my locker.

She shrugged. "Last I knew that had a 'family emergency' and were gonna be out 'til after lunch." Rachel gave a wink even though we all knew what "family emergency" meant.

My frown deepened. It seemed weird for them to go on a mission without Chase at least texting to say so. Balancing my Calculus notebook and textbook in my arms, I checked my phone; no new messages.

"I still think it's weird Davenport's sending her on something like that barely two weeks after she's woken up," Janelle put in.

I rolled my lips into my mouth; I wasn't much of a fan of that idea, either, but it would do not good. Knowing Davenport they were probably already there.

"Whatever," I said with a bang of my locker closing. "I guess we'll just have to wait for tomorrow for any updates." I lowered my voice adding, "Anyone have any of those, by the way?"

Ashley stepped forward. "Hell yeah I do," she exclaimed angrily. By the indifferent expression of the others, I guessed she already told them. "That eyebrow-raising idiot Marcus made a move on me yesterday in PE! Ugh, the scumbag." Her face twisted up in disgust at the thought.

"What kind of move?" I asked curiously.

"Oh you know," Sammie insisted. "The usual pick-up lines and flirting tactics used in all the high school cheap-ass movies. I swear to God, for an evil dude is merchandise is so stale." She made to punctuate her sentence with a roll of her eyes.

Rachel wrinkled her nose up in disgust. "That's revolting."

"I know right?" Ashley flipped her hair and made a noise in the back of her throat.

"But he is easy to look at," Janelle said aloud thoughtfully.

I gave a sharp smack to her shoulder, even though she was kind of right—kind of.

Just as I was about to bring about my strange dream and Rem's weird phone call, the bell gave a shrill ring.

I sighed, stalking off to class with plans of giving the big reveal at lunch, whether the rest of the crew was present or not.

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**That's all for this chapter. Please leave a review because they make the chapters come faster.**


	20. Chapter 19

**Hey, guys. I figured it was time I gave you a chapter update for the story because we're 19/20 chapters in and a lot has happened so far and not to worry, there will be more.**

**So the way I see it there's a huge possibility of being ten chapters left? And then a shortish-long epilogue? Yeah, that sounds about right. And then like I did in between FL and LL I'll take a three-week to a month hiatus to just tie loose ends and focus on other stuff for a little before picking up where I left off on the series.**

**(PS: Rough/estimated publish date for Begin Again—final story in the trilogy—is middle of August/early September.)**

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_November 7__th__ 2013_

Chase's Pov

"Bree, are you sure you're okay?"

"God, Chase, for the millionth time I'm fine." She snapped, pushing herself away from me.

Bree's never been much of a morning person; Davenport had us up since six in the morning training for this mission. Naturally we were all a little grumpy after three hours of training before having to ride high-speed motorcycles to an abandoned warehouse cell on the outskirts of Massachusetts. (Davenport didn't want to risk Bree using her bionics more than necessary and let her ride on, too.)

The warehouse itself wasn't the major part of the mission. For the most part the only thing to be done was to disable all security checks around the perimeter and inside the area. The database was a dinosaur—very slow and sputtering every time I cracked a code. Like it hadn't been touched in decades. Whoever was doing the operation there had gotten cocky and slacked off, much to our advantage.

"This place is disgusting," Bree wrinkled her nose in disgust, eying the stair entrance to the basement cellar. "Why would anyone want to work on a place so far from where the alerts went off anyway?"

"Probably to avoid dragging suspicion to themselves and their co-workers," I said thoughtfully, shining my flashlight down the stairwell. The stairs themselves looked ancient and crumbling, moist and slippery with condensation from the walls.

Adam groaned from somewhere behind me. "Blah blah blah," he said in a bored tone. "When do I get to start wrecking stuff?"

I ignored this like usual, leaning forward and shining my flashlight more into the darkness. The stairs seemed to go one forever.

"The safest bet is all the information we're looking for is down there," I cocked my head downward. "The ground level would be too risky—for both privacy wise and for the sake of keeping them in great condition."

"Eww…" Bree said in a moan, clutching her nose as she followed me down. Adam clomped behind us, his steps echoing. "I don't care how safe they thought this place was; haven't they ever heard of a little thing called air freshener?"

My shoes made a thud as they went off the last step. The ground was solid concrete, like the rest of the tiny room. It look sparsely cut out from the ground itself, with hard, moist walls sweaty with condensation and scarcely furnished with two large filing cabinets and an organized metal table in the middle of it all.

"This place smells funny!" Adam reported from where he'd wandered off in a corner of the room.

I naturally shrugged off my siblings complaints; just because we went on a mission didn't mean they had to like it. I made my way to filing cabinets, examining the shelved carefully. They looked to be the normal ones with the shallow metal handle that slid open like any other. But these didn't have locks. This immediately perked my interest. It would seem someone so worried about staying low key would have at least secured the information aforementioned location held if ever found. Must be a sign of over-confidence, I assumed, pulling it open and idly beginning to flip through the tabs in hopes of finding something eye-catching.

There weren't many files—this is the first thing to alert me. Only five heavily stashed files. They were alphabetized backwards, starting with the last letter of the lineup—D, all the way to the beginning letter, A. Suspicious, I grabbed them and disposed of them on the center metal table, rallying in the rest of my team.

"Look at these," I muttered, spreading them out in front of us. Now I could see the grainy black and white photos clipped to the front of each file, each featuring a different person. I squinted leaning closer—

Bree looked sick to her stomach. "Oh God..." she said, clutching at the table's edge. Adam worriedly threw an arm around her to keep her steady while I skimmed the pages.

"They have files on all of us," I murmured, eyeing the papers in disgust.

Bree looked down at hers in disdain. "I never liked that," she told us faintly, pointing to where **SUBJECT B** was stamped on top of the paper in bold ink. "I hated being called a subject; like a person could take me and dissect me into pieces. See how I worked, tear me apart into different piles, deciding what to do next." Her eyes looked water as she adverted her gaze from her file.

I scrunched my face up, feeling uncomfortable at her description. I never gave much thought to it, similar to the way people didn't think much about death even though they knew it was there. At least Davenport had been thoughtful enough to give us actual names, no matter how plain they were. At least he referred to us as he and she-not it. He wasn't bad, Davenport, a little carried away at times but a lot better than the treatment we would receive at a government facility.

"This doesn't make any sense," I said to myself, flipping through several papers at a time. There were pages and pages on all of us-including Christine. But, why? Hadn't Tina hinted that their goal was to breach Davenport's main system and override it for themselves? Grant had been mentioned in distaste, and now he was lying around in a hospital, unable to offer anything that Davenport didn't already have. What could they possible want from him?

But they wasn't what irked me most. What got to me was that a handful of pages from the stack enlisting information on my girlfriend consisted her reaction to something called Floraxide. I stored away the name for later, figuring it could help lead me deeper into my research.

"Oh my God," Bree said again. Startled, I looked to my sister. Her face had gone sickly pale, sweating and panting as she shook under Adam's arm. Her eyes darted side to side, taking over the room wildly.

I rushed to her side, turning her head to face me. Bree's eyes were starting to dangerously slip closed, her body threatening to shut down like it did when we were in a physical danger bigger than we were equipped to handle.

"Bree? What is it? Bree, try to stay with me-can you hear my voice?" I asked.

My sister was beginning to slip under, her knees buckling. Adam and I exchanged worried looks. Swiftly he swung her into a bridal hold. She was taking unnecessarily fast breaths on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Man we gotta get her outta here," Adam tightened his grip on her shaking frame, sliding the mission bad off his shoulder to give to me. "Get the files for Davenport-he'll want to see this."

Adam ran to the steps with a grim expression, leaving me to quickly slide in the riles holding our information on my way to the door, thought, I stopped to lock the iamge of what could have been a family crest into my memory.

Once I joined my siblings, Bree looked much worse than when I'd last seen her seconds ago. She looked like she was trying to scream, her attempts coming out in ragged hoarse whimpers, shaking and lashing in Adam's arms. He was bent over her, kneeling next to her on the gorund, his attempts to console her continually failing.

The mission was meant to be continued on for at least two hours longer than when we signaled or Davenport's chopper to pick us up at the drop-off location, but didn't mean he shouldn't have had it ready yet. What was taking him so long?

Instead of worrying with that, I switched my focus to my sister. Bree didn't seem to looked any better, but her dry screams had finally ceased. Whn I kneeled next to her I smoothed her hair back. Dear god, please don't take away my sister again, I begged in my head, stubbornly holding back tears. It would do no good for the rest of my team to see their mission leader break down.

Fianlly after my anger peaked my impatience higher, I heard the releiving slice of the chopper cutting through the air.

"Chase?" Bree asked dimly as the ladder was lowered. I looked to Adam, who was cradling her again. He caught my look and handed her off to me. She felt light in my arms, all skin and bones.

"Yeah?"

Bree's eyes flitted, struggling to close, but she fought to keep them open long enough to say her sentence to me. That our girl-always the fighter. "The black man wants you."

I choked on air as she fell unconscious in my arms.

* * *

"Where is she?" Christine asked loudly, skidding to a stop as she flew into the lab. She must've been on her way over here before I sent the text; it'd been only minutes since I had received her hurried answer to the update I'd given her on Bree's condition.

I grimly sat on the stool next to the counter Bree was positioned on. Despite my fears she came to long after we brought her from the chopper and into the lab. But as a pre-cautious measure Davenport laced an oxygen mask around her face and attached a few wires to where they had been only weeks ago.

"She's been going in and out for about two hours now," I informed my girlfriend as she went to stand by Bree. She looked at her with a pained expression.

My sister twitched, her eyelids floating open and closed.

"Hang in there, Sweetheart," Christine murmured softly, gently smoothing her hair back like I did earlier. "You'll be just fine."

Bree looked like she was trying to nod, but the only good it did was make her head loll awkwardly into her shoulder.

"This doesn't make any sense," Leo erupted from his spot at his mission's specialist desk, sitting in his chair with his pad clutched between his scrawny fists angrily. He looked down at the screen in disdain. "You're positive the warehouse and area had remained at its evacuated status it had when we sent you there?" At my nod, he groaned, flopping back in his chair slumped with defeat. "Then what man could Bree be talking about?"

Christine's head snapped up, her attention grabbed by our conversation.

"What guy? Can someone please tell me what's going on?" She demanded. She set us all with a stony look, not taking no for an answer.

Davenport looked up briefly with grave features, stationed at his cyber desk. "Before she went unconscious Bree said she saw a black man in the basement of the warehouse the mission was located."

"But wouldn't we have seen something too?" Adam interjected with a confused face.

Davenport ran a hand over his face. "I'm not sure, but from the sounds of it, Bree's relapse probably caused her to suffer from major hallucinations."

"Chase?" A raspy voice called out to me. "Where is he?"

I whipped my head to where my sister lied, struggling to pull herself up. I hurried over to her.

Bree looked a little better—irritated by the oxygen mask tied tight to her nose, but less pale and shaky than before. Although her voice was dry and she looked a bit pained to talk, she was making enormous amounts of progress since at the warehouse.

"Yeah, sis?"

Bree placed both of her slender hands on either side of my face. I took her thin wrists in my hands, staring into her brown eyes only a few shades lighter than my own. "They want you baby brother," she said sadly.

I frowned, gripping her small wrists in my hands tighter. "Bree," I tried to say as gently as possible, "what do you mean?"

She blinked, staring at me confused as she pulled away slightly. She kept blinking like something was hurting her eyes. "You guys weren't there," she said slowly. "I tried to scream but I couldn't, I tried to run but I couldn't. He was in a suit and he kept talking and yelling."

She gripped my face more, her fingers starting to shake. I pulled her hands away from my face, squeezing her fingers comfortingly.

"Bree, wait a minute." Bree froze, watching as Davenport came to her other side with his iPad-like scanner. He held it in front of her eyes. I peered closer, watching the digital screen run over her facial features, beeping over her eyes.

Christine crossed her arms, looking impatient as she snapped, "What is it saying?"

"Davenport? Is the illness back?" Adam stood worriedly from his seat, looking to our sister.

Davenport shook his head distractedly, muttering as he plugged his scanner into his cyber desk and began furiously tapping away. "Incredible…such a strong reaction…much stronger than before…"

"What is he going on about?" Christine asked impatiently. "Someone tell me before I explode!"

I took a look at the cyber-desk myself. I scanned over them, reading over the statistics and letting them scroll through my head.

"She has a new bionic ability?" I managed through my awe. "Are we sure that's what it is?"

Davenport looked to the dizzy Bree again and to his desk, nodding. "Pretty sure. Not only would it explain why she had such strong hallucinations and sudden dizziness, but it would explain why she had such a strong reaction to the room."

"So, what's the ability?" Christine crossed her arms, looking at Bree sadly. "Will it continue to hurt her like this?"

"It looks to me like once her mind and body learn how to handle the strong brain signals that go off, her mind should learn to easily switch between her ability and out again."

Leo made a noise. "Well? Don't keep us dangling, Big D. What's her ability?"

Davenport held his breath, dragging out the dramatic pause. "Bree has discovered her ability to tear through different layers of time."

* * *

**I'm sorry but I had to leave it at a cliffhanger. I don't know why but I kinda love writing Bree so weak and vulnerable because it's so unlike her in the actual TV show, and just shows how people would react to the situations that involves her getting hurt around her.**


	21. Chapter 20

_November 10__th__ 2013_

Christine's Pov

Ever since Thursday, I'd been more freaked than ever—which is pretty bad when you and your closest friends and boyfriends are involved in a secret world of bionics and scientists with your dad being one of them; and don't even get me started on the hospital.

Bree was better, taking a day off of school on Friday to gather her wits and redeem her strength again. Chase and I spent Saturday with her and Janelle catching her up on her studies that she missed thanks to her relapse and original illness.

"This is impossible!" Bree cried, her head landing on Janelle's shoulder with a thud. Janelle looked like she wanted to push her off, but didn't have the energy.

Chase snorted, looking superior. "Please, I could quote these scenes in my sleep."

"Well, not all of us pretended to date Juliet at one point, Romeo!" she snapped back, tugging tighter at her blanket with a scowl.

I paused, looking to my boyfriend while trying to choke down a snort of laughter. It barely worked, still escaping a little as I took in his tomato face. Unlike me, Janelle isn't gracious enough to try. She hiccupped with laughter, bending over in her lab chair.

"Bree, I'm so gonna get you for that," Chase muttered, glaring at his sister darkly.

Bree smiled and stuck out her tongue. "You wouldn't lay on hand on me and you know it."

This was true. However irritated she was by the fussing, Bree had a way of milking the sickness treatment in her favor, like a girl should. Chase had been especially fussy with her, as had I when I was around and poking around more in my attic with Leo, digging up more of my parents' past.

It was later the night of Bree's discovery did I tell everyone of the pictures and the drastic change between the mothers I saw. Davenport instantly began going off in a muttering spree, click-clacking on his control panel in wonder of what it could tie to.

Now, Janelle frowned as she skimmed the pages of her copy of _Macbeth_. "People really talked like this?" She said incredulously. "How the hell did they know what the other was saying?"

"It was centuries ago," I pointed out thoughtfully, "back then all this—" I gestured to the book—"made sense."

"Or Shakespeare was drunk," Bree suggests, skimming and frowning. "I mean seriously, what is it with this guy and gory murder?" She wrinkled her nose in disgust and flipped back to the page she had marked.

I shrugged, staring at my own copy indifferently. I personally only referred the first half of every Shakespearean story, where nothing was wrong and love was purely that—in its freshest state, _love_. "Or pitied the thought of happy endings."

Janelle clicked her tongue and snapped her fingers at me, now hanging off her chair backwardly. "That's the ticket," she agreed solemnly. "This guy was sick of everyone having a happy ending but him."

"Really," Chase interjected, "he kinda did get a happy ending because his wife outlived him, meaning he never went a day up to his death of his mid-50's without her."

She was quiet for a moment, mulling over this information from my Wikipedia of a boyfriend. Then she said, "You can never let me have a moment, can you?"

"I'll let you have a right one once you get your facts straight."

The two soon began to heavily bicker, Bree boredly playing dictator and flipping through the question packet that came with the book, tapping her pencil on her knee. I tuned them out, leaning on my fist in thought, thinking of my own Shakespeare experience.

The play was smoothing out its edges and fixing the loose ends now that the days of final rehearsal were nearing at lightning speed. The costumes were being shipped, the sets were finished two days earlier, and every cast member (and understudy) could rattle off any line from any scene like it was their address. Because, hello, opening night was staring us right in the face, coming at full force.

But that didn't stop the rest of the madness from happening. My attention in Tina and Callan and Eyebrows had been slipping ever since I dug up what I did on my mother—or at least the past her. There were more than pictures, this I knew, and planned to enlist Leo to have a mini movie marathon with the old tapes and CDs I found buried deeply in an especially worn box shoved away in a corner, clearly meant to be forgotten.

Too bad my father didn't count on me snooping my way around there with a little help from my sidekick.

Leo, for his credit, was pretty cool about the whole thing. Although, he wasn't afraid to announce his awkwardness on the whole ordeal when coming across an especially eyebrow raising photo of my mother in a short lacy number.

I, however, found this the most disturbing between the two of us and quickly demanded him to put it away before I proceeded to puke all over his favorite shirt.

That reminds me—

"I must leave now," I announced, brushing off my lap and packing up my things. I stood after giving a chaste kiss to Chase and ruffling Bree's hair as I passed her. Without turning I know she's scowling at my back and reaching up to fix her hair, horrid English assignment forgotten.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you'd fancy my brother more than myself," Chase called out after me. I could hear the slyness in his voice as he spoke.

I turned on my heel, shooting a smirk to him. "For all you know, maybe I do."

Even as I left them in puddles of laughter, chuckling myself, I knew this could never be true.

* * *

Somehow, Leo beat me to my house. And I had been coming from his in the first place. I was about to question what motives he could've had for getting here so fast, but when I saw him with covered in cookie crumbs and casually channel surfing, I knew he must've sniffed out the cookies somehow. Or guessed. Maybe both.

I quickly discarded my bag on the Lay-Z boy and swiped a few myself. Snicker doodles, this time. Rem must've been baking for the entire time I was gone—the batter bowl still out on the counter, a fresh sheet of cookies cooling as the oven yawned open.

We went through the same routine or flipping in between SpongeBob and this new show called Sanjay and Craig. After watching carefully for a constructive thirteen minutes we both dutifully agreed that this stupid piece of work was not worth our time and another add-on to the list of shame for Nick.

"Okay, time to get to work." I stood and brushed cookie crumbs off my lap, starting to the stairs.

Leo groaned from somewhere behind me. "I feel weird going through your pop's past like this. I don't even like it when Mom relives her 80's years with me!"

I did a physical shudder. For me, 80's was all neon and leg warmers, and funky disco records that were made to be destroyed. No one should be able to make it through recounting a story featuring those things without throwing up. The mocking stories retold by Dad and some pictures recalled on especially long road trips didn't help ease my repulsiveness on the entire decade.

I set his and my uncomfortableness to the side, instead pulling him along and up the attic the steps once I yanked them down.

Leo and I had managed to cover the front boxes, the ones that weren't necessarily hidden away. Dad always been a man of science, but that didn't stop him from having a strong believe in different sayings, especially after the rough period after Mom abandoned us all those years ago.

His favorite? 'Many important details of life are hidden in plain sight.'

Who's to say that didn't mean his past in boxes?

But other than more pictures and a couple of desperate letters written in my father's messy scrawl, there was nothing useful—even between the lines of the innocent-by standing looking stuff.

"So? What else do we look for?" Leo asked as he rolled up his sleeves. We stood at the opening of the stairs, looking at the boxes all around us. It never occurred to me until then how many boxes we truly had, all stored with our original belongings and more newer and useless things added every time we moved. It was kind of depressing, really, to look at the box towers nearly as tall as I. (Either they were as large and tall as I was seeing them to be, or I felt incredibly small in that moment.)

"Anything we haven't already found," I said finally, pushing up my own sleeves and carefully sifting my way to a pile of tubs near the slanted window on the far wall. Leo, by the sudden noise to my left, headed toward a back corner behind the stairs.

When I popped the lid, it would be an understatement to say I was disappointed with what I found. I wasn't expecting a sudden breakthrough discovery or anything, but usually, by the clichés we seemed to following, I figured they would hold something juicer than broken Christmas ornaments and dusty Thanksgiving décor.

I dug through it just in case, and all I got was pricked by a sharp edged piece of what could have once been a baby Jesus bulb for the tree.

"Shit." I stuck my pointer finger into my mouth, sucking the blood off as I stood.

Leo didn't even bother to look up at my exclamation, choosing to still dig around. I pushed aside what I'd already dug through to grab a smaller, skinnier box that couldn't have held much beyond something tinier than clothing or books. I ripped the top off, running my hands over the surface of its contents.

Everything in it was books and old VCR tapes. Dad had always been especially old-fashioned when it came to the past, and I guess memories videotaped were no exception.

I grabbed the books closest to me. It was a really old copy of _Carrie_ by Stephen King, the cover dependent on tape and dried bits of what looked like glue. Gingerly I flipped it open, running my finger curiously over the sticky note stuck to the flap.

_Allan and Maria—West Side Story: The Musical_

_Senior moment; final performance._

It was written in my father's handwriting, but neater—like he'd taken great care with writing this. But that wasn't what struck me as odd; my parents knew each other before college? I felt something stir in the pit of my stomach. For more clues I carefully set the book aside, still open, and pushed my way to the bottom, where neatly lined were old VCR tapes.

"Yo! Lookit this!" Leo let out a whoop from his side of the mess, holding something rectangular and obviously overused in his hand. I squinted, leaning closer to get a better look. Not such an easy feat with him waving it back and forth as excitedly as he was.

_The VCR player!_

I jumped up, clapping my hands together excitedly. With a grin, I nudged my head toward my find. "We have _got _to show the guys this."

* * *

After another good hour of reading carefully placed sticky notes and digging out the corresponding tapes, we lugged our discoveries to Davenports' house in a huge wheel barrow I politely borrowed from my neighbor, Ms. Riley, an old substitute with a glass eye for Mission Creek.

"Whoa," Janelle said. She stood at the door, _Macbeth_ still in hand and her hair now messily piled on her head with two pencils stabbed through it. "What'd you do? Break into a secret safe or something?"

Leo snorted from his spot steering the wheel barrow. He rolled his eyes as he complained, "if only the snooping was that exciting!"

I promptly thumped his head and directed him to help me bring everything inside and leave the barrow outside until it was needed again.

Janelle and Bree huddled off in the kitchen, their cell phones in hand as they rounded up the troops for an emergency meeting at the Davenport residence, ASAP.

"Didn't you already know that your parents met in high school?" Trina asked her and Rachel the first to arrive.

Rachel rolled her eyes, tossing a throw pillow at her sister's head. "Moron, they met in college."

Trina wrinkled her nose. "Same difference."

"Not really."

While the two began to bicker, Ashley and Sammie blew in, attached at hip like always. They were huffing and puffing, their feet in matching wedges.

Sammie righted herself, stiff panting, to see all the amused faces looking at them. She pointed an accusing (sparkly and manicured) finger at Bree. "You said someone died!" she cried angrily.

Bree shrugged, still wrapped up in her blanket. "I knew you wouldn't hurry unless it was of the upmost importance," she pointed out, which was true. To Ashley and Sammie—the latter especially—it had to involve a death or someone close to dying for them to steer away from their Spa Saturday. Kind of sad, but pathetically true.

Everyone scrunched together on the couch and floor, situating themselves between each other's legs and such while I and Chase set up the VCR and placed the tapes in order.

"Do you think this could be it?" He asked me softly, our hands brushing against each other's as we worked to untangle the knotted cords. Despite being together well over a year, I felt my face heat up at the contact as I smiled.

"Anything's possible, remember?" He grinned slyly and pulled me close the waist, kissing me softly.

"Boo! Go get a room!" Leo hollered, launching a nearby throw pillow at our heads. It missed by a mile, landing somewhere near the kitchen.

"Nice one, babe," Janelle snorted.

Chase and I pulled away laughing, finishing the last part of setting up the VCR to the TV. I grabbed the first one of the tapes I'd found, popping it in and playing around with the channels before the static-induced image came up.

Chase set me on his lap once he rested in his spot on the couch, hugging me from behind as the video began to play.

My dad looked handsome in his senior year. Well-cut hair and light eyes, no stress lines marking his face yet.

My mother naturally looked even more gorgeous than she did in the pictures I'd seen; prettier and younger, glowing with that youth glow that she now lacked. Long tresses of dark blonde hair fell over her night dress, her dark eyes staring into my father's eyes deeply, full of love not even the best actress in the world could fake.

They were singing, standing on a false stairwell, like the kind seen connected to the outside of apartment buildings downtown.

A few of the girls let out little "awes!" and dreamy sighs, making their respective guy groan. I myself leaned closer in my seat, smiling lightly at how loving and caring they were for each other, even in their rendition of West Side Story. No way could it have been Dad's work to blow it all away, like my mother accused it of being all those years ago.

It had to have something to do with her, and her now dark hair, and whoever her male friend is, spotted at her sides in all the paparazzi snapped pictures now.

I didn't care. I watched the couple my parents used to be as they sing their I love you's in perfect harmony, the world around them melting.

And for the life of me, I was going to figure out why they can't be like that now.

* * *

**I guess this could be longer, but I really hate revealing too much in one chapter. Plus I love hearing about your frustration about it in your reviews so please tell us your comments and thoughts on the chapter and what you think could happen next.**


	22. Chapter 21

**So here's the deal—I've been on a family vacation and busy all day then super tired when we get back and all that, so the only time I really write is at night when everything's all quiet and calm and all that. Yeah, I'm aware of how many "ands" I used in that sentence, but just ignore it.**

**By the time my partner goes over this and the last chapter it should be a week, I think. (Perfect timing for the new Lab Rats episode, by the way.) But not to worry—it'll all work out, you'll get your new chapters, and it's all gonna be great. Kay?**

* * *

_November 12__th__ 2013_

Chase's Pov

We spent over an hour watching the old tapes, including having to answer some very idiotic questions on Adam's part on why someone would want to make a musical about the west side. (Even after spending time during the tapes and a generous half hour after everyone went home on the subject, he still didn't get it.)

Today Janelle and Ashley planned a conference type of ordeal because apparently they dug up more dirt on whoever the dude that was always seen with Maria was. I honestly wasn't looking forward to spending my lunch hour pining through magazine articles on the woman my girlfriend was pissed at, but in the matter I clearly didn't have a choice.

Christine wasn't too fond of the idea either, expressing her feelings on the subject as we headed our way to our group's regular table.

"I just don't see why we have to this during lunch," she grumbled grumpily. "Nothing good can come from looking through a new love life my _mother_ picked for herself." She sniffed haughtily, adding in, "I'd rather keep my nose out of it, thank you very much."

I chuckled, kissing her hair as we sat down. Bree and Leo sat across from us, Bree biting her lip and tapping away at her pencil nervously while Leo calmly thumbed a DC comic. Whoa, those were pretty old adventures he was reading up on.

"Dude, since when are you into vintage?" a voice asked as a seat screeched against the cafeteria floor and was pulled next to me. My bionic hearing caught on to this and made me wince. Rachel smiled at me apologetically, swinging herself into her seat and patting my shoulder. My reaction must not have been as subtle as I thought. Whoops.

Leo held his head high. "I have decided," he said with great authority, "To adapt to the older generation of comic books and become the greatest comic book collector of this decade!"

He looked around the table with a grin that nearly took up his entire face, saw our blank looks, and slumped over in his seat. "In other words, Mom's cut short on my allowance, and I had to dig through a closet to find a box full of comics to keep me entertained."

"What kind did you find?" Sammie asked, her dark head of curls popping out of nowhere. Again with the audible screeching noise of a chair. I reacted again, just not as noticeably.

Leo brightened at someone finally asking. "Oh, you know," he said flippantly, waving a hand, "just a dozen DCs and maybe a gazillion old Disney action ones. Nothing too valuable money-wise."

Sammie tilted her head, genuinely thinking about it. "I wouldn't be too sure about that," she disagreed with a shake of her head. I narrowly avoided a mouthful of curls by ducking lower in my seat. "Judging by the heavily increasing dependency on technology of our generation and therefore others to come, I'd say that in a few decades if you were to seriously consider a financial investment in your findings, the old print and costly rate of the comics would increase highly so, resulting in a pretty good fortunate if to ever turn them in."

Janelle and Ashley, coming just in time to hear Sammie's financial monologue on the comics, gaped at her in amazement and shock. I did so too, but mostly in disbelief. Even I, the bionic genius, would never have said such a thing at that moment. (Could I be slipping from exhaustion, maybe?)

"What the hell was _that_?" Rachel said finally.

Sammie, finally realizing the attention she'd brought upon herself, smiled shyly and ducked her head. "A few years ago I spent a summer with my grandparents on their Lake House and grandpa kinda rubbed off on me. It doesn't help that my dad and Short Fry over their have a highly irrational love-slash-obsession for comics." She looked pointedly at Leo.

Leo didn't seem to notice, instead looking down at his old new finding with renewed interest. The thought of sudden money gain in a few years seemed to have him seeing everything in gold.

While all this madness was going on, Bree still stared nervously down at her paper, the pencil still doing that tap-tap-tap against her papers. At first it hadn't been bad, but my hearing had picked up on it and the sound was beginning to irritate me.

Apparently I wasn't the only one who noticed how out of it my sister was. "Dude," Christine said, mildly annoyed yet concerned, "what's with all the tapping?"

Bree looked up, a bit startled that someone was talking to her. She finally seemed to notice that her hand hadn't stopped moving, and reluctantly set it down on the inside of her textbook. "Sorry," she said offhandedly, looking distractedly. "I'm somewhere else I guess."

Rachel snorted, grabbing a fry from my sister's discarded tray. "No kidding."

Ashley elbowed her sharply. "Be nice," she warned.

She shrugged in return, still shoveling the fries in. "I'm just saying, it wasn't like she wasn't obvious or anything."

"What're you thinking about?" My girlfriend asked. She leaned against me, head on my shoulder as she looked to Bree across the table.

Bree shrugged, suddenly looking unsettled. Her voice dropped low, and she leaned closer, gesturing for us all to do the same. We all did, puzzled, especially Adam as he leaned in a bit too much.

"I did another one of those things again," she said softly, speaking to her papers. "You know that thing I did on the mission? Except it didn't hurt this time. I was asleep." She shuddered, as if reliving it. "It was _horrible_—like a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from."

Janelle furrowed her eyebrows and wrinkled her nose. "What could you have seen this time? I mean, yeah, doing it in that lab thing was different because something triggered the effect of the ability, but in your lab, what could've done that?"

Bree squinted as she tried to recall it. "Uh, it's all really fuzzy. Like a dream you can't remember even if it's really recent. But I think it was Callan and—and Christine." She looked to my girlfriend, head tilted. "You were at a house . . . his, I think. At first it was a play rehearsal; something, happened, I guess."

Christine looked frazzled. My fists tightened as my jaw clenched. What did Bree mean by something happened? Wouldn't Christine have told me if she did something other than play practice?

Rachel didn't seem to have any pieces in her head click either. "Chris," she said slowly, "What does Bree mean by something happened?"

Christine sat up straighter, squinting and thinking hard. "I don't know," she admittedly, looking at all of us. "All I can remember is that I felt really sleepy after went through some scenes. Dad said he carried me home because I fell asleep. But that's all that happened, I swear," she added. My girlfriend eyeballed me, trying to guess my reaction.

Instead of answering her forwardly, I turned to Bree, who was still trying to clearly remember all of what she'd seen. "Do you think there's a way for us to see all of it?" I asked gently, trying not to sound too eager to the idea.

My sister looked at me hesitantly. "Yeah, Davenport told me about this system he worked out for my visions," she explained, once again capturing our full attention. "He said that if I ever experienced a vision too powerful too fully remember or that had to be seen directly, then I had to tell him so he could use this new extension he finished putting on his cyber desk. He said it was supposed to display the recalled vision on his cyber screen to tell exactly what it showed."

"And he's sure that safe?" Leo asked. His attention finally seemed to be away from his comic fortune. "I mean, Big D's experiments have gone haywire before—" Janelle snorted, and Leo gave her a pointed look—"without me being near them, and this would be his first time testing it out on a human, no matter specially powered a being you are."

Bree folded her hands on top of the table nervously. "I thought about that too," she said, "but I hadn't told him anything about it this morning because I was still trying to figure out what it was exactly that the visions had told me in the first place."

Rachel twisted her mouth to side, obviously deep in thought as she went over the information handed to her. God, it was nearly like she had bionic skill all on her own: making up instant game plans and following by a constant rulebook.

"Okay," she said finally, her mind set, "this is what we're going to do. Bree, you are going to tell Davenport about the visions and say that you're willing to test out the experiments." She turned to Christine and I. "You two—it's your job to call after she's done so to round us up so we can be there when the testing is ready." Then, she turned so she was facing all of us. "Then, if the vision thing works like it's supposed to, we watch, observe, then decipher later. Deal?" She looked at us all with one eyebrow cocked, daring someone to challenge her move.

Looking scared shitless (if only a little), Leo dared to raise his hand. Rachel gave him an amused look. "Yes?"

"Rules?" he asked.

Rachel relaxed, smirking as she scribbled on some loose leaf paper from Bree's notebook. She casually stuck another fry in her mouth. "Rules are, if Bree gives us any sign or signal that she's in serious pain, we call it off and say it's too risky for her health." Bree seemed to visibly relax at this. "Rule Two: _nothing_ is labeled as unimportant. If it's in the vision then, well, it's useful in our favor. Got it?"

We nodded our heads. "Got it," we echoed.

Our plan was in motion. Our leader had spoken.

* * *

Throughout the rest of day went by in a blur, me thinking the same thing throughout all my classes: _what the hell happened between my girlfriend and Callan?_ It bothered me to no ends, throwing me off track and practically making me a zombie for play practice.

It wasn't even a play practice really. Alissa had recorded different practice session and was having us watch it the entire hour, pointing out mistakes and slight things that needed to be fixed before opening show night. Basically, she was freaking because the play was just barely three weeks away.

I spent the hour with the video and her voice as background noise, counting all the people that fell asleep. Ten, Gemma included.

"You seem loopy," Christine pointed out, poking my shoulder as we scooted out of our seats and grabbed out bags.

I made a face as we made our way out. Janelle and Ashley had waved us ahead, saying they'd meet us at my house with Bree for the experiment to begin.

"I was just busy thinking," I said truthfully, because on top of the Callan issue, the practice reminded me of how close the play was and, our drama with Tina, Eyebrows, and Blondie aside, how well it was coming along. Gemma and Damon seemed excited, always dragging Christine to see the different dress she'd have to wear throughout the play.

Three weeks was all we had left before opening night. And just barely that. And Lord knows something was going to screw it up, because with our luck, nothing could go right for us.

Bree, Janelle, and Ashley were four minutes late. That left Christine and I to call everyone over and awkwardly tell Davenport we had something to tell him.

"Could you make it quick? I'm in a hurry to get some new parts for NASA and God knows how impatient they are when it comes to spare parts. . ." Davenport started to get all spaced out again, making Christine result in snapping her fingers in front of his face several times to regain his attention. Rachel, having arrived early and current nestling up to Adam like he a teddy bear, rolled her eyes.

Leo was present too, but too immersed in his old comics to give a damn about what we were doing.

"Dude, you're gonna want to pay attention to this," Christine assured Davenport just as the rest of our team come bustling, out of breath.

"Alissa. . .wanted us to. . .stay behind for some. . .backstage crap. . ." Ashley panted.

Bree scowled at her. "And this one made me stop to get Sammie and wouldn't let me break out with my super speed even though _no one was around_."

"You're still recovering!" Ashley said to defend herself.

"Helllooo, bionics heal fast in case you didn't know!"

"Fine, next time I'll let you speed all around town and wear yourself out and then I'll say I told you so!"

"Ladies!" Davenport interjected just as Bree looked ready to throw a punch at the petite redhead. "I was so rudely interrupted in my work because of something important." He gave Christine a pointed look, and she sighed with an eye roll.

"Bree has something to tell you." My girlfriend gave my sister a pointed shove, making her stumble and nearly crash into the couch.

After a glare over her shoulder to Christine, she quickly gave Davenport a summarized version of what she told us at lunch.

Davenport looked at her carefully. "And you're sure you want to go through with this?"

"We've talked it over," Rachel said confidently, shoulders squared, and face set. "We all decided that if Bree in any way signals us that she's in an unbearable amount of pain, we ditch this experiment altogether and try another strategy."

Davenport looked a little alarm at the loud authority coming from her, obviously unused to our power system, so I gave him a look to know that for now she was the leader of this operation and all decisions were made and run by her.

With little reluctance he led us to the lab and carefully explained the process of how exactly the vision viewing worked as he instructed Bree to settle into her spot on the lab counter.

"I'm getting really sick and tired of always being up on this thing and hooked up to something," she stated dryly as she laid down.

Davenport flitted around her, hooking wires to her temples and the pulse points on her wrists.

"You see," he began, "I have found a way to display the occurring or current events Bree envisions with a new device I like to call the Vision Connecter. When hooked up to the person in question—in this case, Bree—it displays the recalled visions and shows us exactly what she sees."

Rachel stepped up, eying how he typed furiously into his cyber desk and the wall screen suddenly erupting into static, looking for a signal. "Is there a switch or does she have to recall first?"

Davenport stopped, looking to my sister to the screen. He scratched the back of his head. "I haven't really worked out how it starts yet," he admitted sheepishly. "Only how the general idea of it is supposed to go."

"Genius," Christine snapped her breath from beside me.

I elbowed her to keep her quiet, but felt the impeccable urge to bust out laughing and could hardly contain it.

Rachel sighed, obviously annoyed by his lack of thinking, and took control like usual. "Okay, this is what we're going to do." She walked closer to Bree, taking her hand and squeezing it between her own. "Bree, I need you to try really hard to get back the memories you told us about. But if it hurts too much, stop at any time, 'kay?" Bree looked pained at the thought of even trying, but nodded and squeezed her eyes shut.

Then she turned so fast it was a serious wonder how she didn't suffer a moment from whiplash. Rachel snapped her fingers at me, making me snap to attention. Because God I'll admit it—there were times where she could scare anyone shitless and this was one of those times.

"You, Brainiac, take over with the controls because obviously _this one _has no idea what he's doing." She gave Davenport a look so fierce it shushed whatever protest or defense he was going to give against her words.

I took his place at his cyber desk, analyzing the holographic layout that was traced over the controls. It was pretty basic as far as set-ups go. For the Vision Connecter to work, Bree had to envisioning the same thing that she wanted to appear for everyone else to see while the two wires were set to tap into the part of her brain that accomplish the feat.

Before I tapped the controls, I leaned down her ear and whispered, "I'm gonna do it now. Just relax and see the vision—everything'll be good, okay?"

Bree nodded, so curt and fast if I'd blinked I would've missed it. With a deep breath and final look to her figure, tense with clenched fists that shook bleached at her sides, I tapped the final code that allowed the part of her chip that protected any outside source of its firewall to evaporate and watched the change begin.

At first, all Bree did was twitch and everyone turned to the screen, wide-eyed. The static began to thicken then fade and let out a loud screech before giving away altogether. That was when Bree began to scream. It wasn't loud like the first time she ever did this on the mission, but it alarming either way. I jumped when I heard it, my sensitive ears protesting at the volume. I clenched my teeth and ignored it, watching her clenched jaw and fists shake as her skin paled.

"Bree, remember what I said," Rachel remained sternly as the screen began to flicker with images.

The first thing I noticed was that the "work" we'd interrupted with Davenport when we first arrived home must've been putting the final touches to the Vision Connecter before the scene was blurred around the edges and made things hard to make out straight away—like you were still groggy when you woke up and looked around your room for the first time of the day.

Bree groaned as a house took shape. A comfortable mansion-looking house with gold-trimmed shingles and white paint, the inside huge and comfy looking.

Christine gasped, recognizing the scene almost immediately.

"Callan's house," she explained as the blurred figure of a sleek blonde woman came into view. The second figure, an obvious visitor, took form faster than the blonde lady, the mop of brunette hair and slim, broad shoulders materializing first all the way to her combat boots. Christine was there, smiling and politely making conversation with the enemy's mother.

Ashley cocked her head. "I knew it—the damn guy is a rich snob."

"A rich drama snob," Janelle added helpfully.

The damned rich snob himself came in, forming almost as quickly as Christine had. I mentally stored away the information that familiar figures and states of visions formed faster than unrecognizable ones did.

The vision began to fade again, slipping in and out as scenes flipped past like a flipbook, like—

"A rewind button," Christine said thoughtfully, turning to take in Bree's figure. She was still groaning.

I thought about the slowness of the visions and realized it must compete with the built-in firewall of her chip, making everything that was supposed to work fast go slower and how her mind had strained painfully under the change.

"Whoa, what did he do to you, man?" This coming from Leo made me turn to the screen abruptly. I swiveled my attention there just in time to see Christine setting down a blurred glass, her face tiring suddenly so as she looked to her script in fatigue.

"I'm feeling tired suddenly, maybe we should . . . take a short break," Christine's voice managed through a wide yawn. Callan stood in the edge of the vision, smiling a smile so perverted it nearly made me shudder.

"Oh, gross," my girlfriend said now, watching herself on the screen as Callan slowly convinced her to rest, as her body slumped.

I watched the seen unfold further, that damn drug taking place in her veins as he dragged her up those (admittedly pretty damn grand) stairs to a huge bedroom, humped and moaning and putting her under the influence while she flailed and lolled underneath him. I turned away once he began to cuss out loud and ripped his clothes, already having had enough.

"Damn Floraxide," I growled underneath my breath, letting my fist bang against the table.

My anger caused Bree to jumped slightly, one of the suctioned wires attached to her head slipping and severing the connection, making the screen melt back to static.

"Goddamn," Rachel said in amazement as Bree gradually began to unfold from her weakened state. "That guy's a bigger asshole than we thought."

"What the hell does raping my girlfriend have to do with any of what they're trying to accomplish?" I asked to no one in particular, my voice loud and angry.

Leo shrugged, having grabbed his pad from his specialist's desk and was now furiously tapping away at it screen. "Seems to me it was another way of having a decoy," he suggested. "Because Bree was used as a decoy, knowing that her sudden health fall would cause a sharp decrease in Big D's attention with his monitors and screens." Davenport causally looked at this, but everyone knew it was true.

"And," Leo was quick to add, "it's quite obvious that Christine was taken to Callan's because she would have told Chase about it, in which his jealousy would let his guard slip. See, their game is all about distraction—the more, the more chances they have to overrule us."

Janelle stared at him in amazement. "And when exactly did you get so smart?"

Leo shrugged, looking at her with a smile that took up his entire face. "I have my ways."

"While this little flirtation is cute and all," Rachel said over them, flicking her eyebrows up between the two. They blushed, glancing at each other then looking away. God, those two life to tease each other.

"There's a bigger question on the table," Rachel continued, "is why exactly is Bree getting these images? I mean sure, the why is pretty much explained because our drugged little decoy didn't know what was happening, leaving us all clueless . . ."

Christine growled lowly under her breath and glared as she went on. ". . . But, the real question is how—how is Bree's chip projecting these images to her? The power, and we all must admit this, is much more logical in the supernatural lighting than the scientific experimental, don't you think?"

Rachel challenged everyone around the room to a look no one objected to.

"Okay," Ashley said. "So this is a bit on the paranormal side; any ideas on to why that is?" She swiveled to look to Davenport with a daring look of her own, arms crossed.

He looked to Bree—who was now slowly sitting up, looking at us dizzily—and then to his cyber desk, which contained everything from our DNA information to undiscovered bionic abilities.

"I don't know."

* * *

**This is officially the longest chapter yet, which is quite odd because this originally start out as a filler chapter but then turned into this. See, didn't I promise you guys the Callan Thing would not be forgotten?**

**Although I'm sure this is a lot more than you expected. . .**

**Anyway, next chapter should be up by the end of week, if not then no later than the 24****th****. The next one will also be big.**

**Only about eight to ten more chapters left with a touching epilogue. Please stay tuned because this chapter is the turning point to Something Big.**


	23. Chapter 22

**Hey, readers. At the end of the last chapter, I promised Something Big to go on throughout the ending chapters of this story. And, surprisingly, although we're past the 20-chapter mark, the climax has yet to come. (If you haven't noticed yet, the rising actions are far longer than the falling action, which I find more enjoyable.)**

**While this chapter is less surprise-filled than the last (because, come one, that's gonna be pretty hard to top) this will have some important details that I encourage you to pay attention to.**

* * *

_November 12__th__ 2013_

Bree's Pov

After the vision viewing, everyone stayed and discussed what had been seen over a dinner of salad and Papa John's pizza and breadstick combo. Tasha came home not long after they'd disassembled me from the wires and explained to her what was going on.

That's the one thing about Tasha I liked about her most—she was just so mellow about everything. That in itself was really saying something because she treated us like her own kids, and how many mothers can say they don't freak out when given an update on their kids bionic status? I'm telling you, not many.

While Tasha strived for us to experience "normal", our discussing what went on inside my head that could be projected on a screen over pineapple and ham pizza with gooey cheese bread sticks and lovely side salads was an normal as we could accomplish.

But somehow, compared to our daily chaotic drama, that seemed perfectly fine with me.

"Hey, what're you doing up so late?" a sleepy voice asked me. I didn't look up from where I was writing in a notebook I found in one of our many rooms as Chase pulled up a chair beside me and made himself comfortable. "It's nearly midnight."

"Nothing, just thinking," I told him, gesturing to my pajamas I'd already changed into, "I couldn't sleep anyway."

When I'd left my room, it'd only been 10:30. True to my statement I'd gotten sick of tossing and turning in bed for an hour and came down here, wanting to be with my thoughts. Then I wandered a bit, going into some rooms until I came across the notebook and brought it to the lab with me.

Chase was in his pajamas too, looking at me with bleary eyes still cloudy with sleep. It took some major restraint to burst into laughter at the funny sight of his hair sticking up in the air at the back of his head.

"Are you thinking about the vision thing again?" he asked quietly, his voice dropping even though we were alone. At my reluctant nod, he smiled sympathetically, as if he knew what I was through but didn't at the same time. "I think I know what would make it better."

I perked up at hearing this, then smiling widely when he revealed a package of Oreos from behind his back. Immediately, I launched at the pack, grabbing five and splitting the first of the pile in half.

Chase snickered as I licked at the crème. "Sometimes you are such a kid."

I shrugged, continuing on with eating my Oreo. After the first one was gone, I stared at my notebook that I'd placed on the counter. "Look at this," I said to Chase when I handed it to him. It was vaguely bullet-pointed notes and ideas on how my vision sight works.

After replaying the evening over and over in my head, I concluded the most probably idea that my chip took DNA that my mind had come to remember from me having contact or using someone else's property and used the DNA trail to play me a moment in time from either their view or an outsider's view of wherever they were then.

"Wow," Chase said. He looked up at me, mildly impressed. "How long did it take you to come up with this?" Gingerly, he handed the notebook back. I set it on the counter to avoid the pages getting littered with cookie crumbs as I bit into another cookie, this time not even bothering to split it in half.

"Why are you up?" I asked my brother as I swallowed. He shrugged, stealing a cookie from my pile as he did so.

"Whaa?" I whined, gesturing madly to the Oreo tin next to us. "Get your own! They're right there, you know."

"Then you should have no problem getting another one," Chase said simply, smirking as I glared. He was never going to let me win this.

I rolled my eyes, the room dipping into a comfortable silence only broken by our eating. Man, if only someone had gotten some ice cream on the last grocery run.

With my tower already devoured, I pulled my knees up to my chest, swinging in my chair to grab another cookie.

"Are you still pissed at Callan?" I asked quietly, nibbling on the edges.

Chase looked startled at the conversation starter—not that it was much of a subtle one—but nodded. "Yeah—good God, I can't get over he did that, especially to my _girlfriend_. . ."

I nodded. It must be terrible to hear that happened to someone you loved. I couldn't even stand the thought of it and I was her best friend. If only I knew what Chase was going through.

"But hey," I leaned over and swatted at his knee, "we don't know for sure that went _all the way. _He could've been respectful and just. . .got some looksies and copped a few feels, right?"

"I think we're all too worn out for anymore big reactions," Chase confessed dryly. "I mean, really, I didn't see this coming—but now, I expect more what I hadn't been thinking to be what I get, you know?"

I nodded, because I did get it. In just October and November alone, so much had gone on and I agreed; everyone had given too many reactions and blow-ups already to be giving big ones any time soon.

Chase sighed, kicking at the floor, before getting up and kissing my head. "Make sure to get some sleep, yeah?"

I nodded again, watching the lab doors open and close in the my little brother's presence. In a way, it looked like the doors swallowed him whole.

* * *

_November 13__th__ 2013_

Christine's Pov

I was up early the next morning, still pissed about the previous day. After the little screening, Chase shared some information on a drug he found in a file holding information on me. Floraxide. It sounded like a type of window cleaner or floor wax. And it at some point traveled through my body.

God, if I ever saw Callan today…

Hurriedly, I tied my hair up and threw out a high-waisted black skirt and white knit sweater. With my brown cowboy boots in hand, I darted downstairs.

"Do you plan on visiting your father today?" Rem asked, bent over a mixing bowl.

I nodded, stuffing a syrup-y waffle in my mouth as I tried to shove on my boots at the same time. "Yeah," I said around a mouthful of food. "Did the doctors call and saw anything?"

Rem shook her head, leaning over with her damp wash cloth to blot at a glob of syrup on my mouth. "No, but I went to visit the other day. He looked so awful—like you did when you had that flu, remember?"

At the memory, I grimaced. Of course I remembered. It was January 2010 and I was turning 13 that year. I started off with having the worst flu ever on New Year 's Day, being bedridden for two weeks. I spent those days puking up chicken noodle soup and stomach bile, army crawling from my bedroom to the bathroom across the hall when I was strong enough, otherwise chucking whatever came up my throat into the always-handy garbage can parked near my bed.

Those two weeks I also spent feeling like shit, with my insides wanting to be on my outsides.

God, was my dad really going through that much pain? And for what, a stressful-induced heart attack over the loss of my mother? (And blah, blah, blah—heart and attack and collapsing from heartbreak I think could qualify as the same thing.)

"How's Bree doing?" Rem asked gently. Sure, it wasn't her smoothest transition, but it would do because I really didn't want to discuss the poor state my father was in at the moment. "You haven't told me in Donald ever found a way to help her. Poor girl, being put through so much like that at 17."

I pursed my lips, nodding stiffly. "She's fine," I assured her. "A little worn out and jumpy, but who can blame her for that?"

I felt bad for not staying around longer to make sure she was really okay. Bree—and the Davenports, especially—had a way of saying they were okay when they were far from it. I personally thought it came with the weight of being bionic. How they kind of grew up around the idea of emotions being inferior to real physical strength.

But I knew Bree. Just a couple days after she woke up from her coma she confessed to me one night that she was afraid.

"Of what?" I'd asked.

Her tone had been so hushed, so quiet. Like she was scared someone would hear her. "I can hardly remember the last days before I fell into that damn coma," she cried softly, "what if I go in again and you can't get out this time?"

Now, Rem continued to furiously whip the batter in the bowl around. "That poor thing," she clucked again. "You tell her she's welcome to come over any time she likes. It must be scary for her to be in a place she knows was inflected with tools of the enemy, you know."

I shuddered. I could hardly contain myself around others while knowing what that low-life scum of a bastard Callan did to me, how was I supposed to handle seeing him at school?

Right, being expelled was _exactly _what I needed to pile up on my disastrous sophomore year. Not.

"I gotta go," I said through my last bite of food. I hugged Rem a quick good-bye and ran out the door, throwing my bag on to my shoulder.

"Hey, wait up!" I said a bit breathlessly.

They turned. Adam and Leo were in deep conversation with Leo waving a gaming device between them, the eldest obviously confused, while Chase looked annoyed as Bree leaned heavily on him. As I neared, I saw that Bree looked, in short, like she mated with a raccoon.

"What's up with her?" I asked, pointing as Bree struggled to stay upright.

Chase sighed. "She didn't listen when I told her she needed sleep, and only got four hours of sleep."

"And a half," Bree mumbled sleepily.

He shook his head, using both of his hands to push her up right. "God, Bree, I don't need your drool spots on me," he said.

I took her right arm and together we dragged her between us, falling behind as Leo and Adam walked on, stilling arguing about God-knows-what.

"What was she up all night about anyway?" I asked Chase as the school building loomed in front of us.

Chase looked down at his sister. "Researching," he said flatly.

We walked in to the school, Bree dragging herself to the stairs to nap until one of us lugged her to the cafeteria for breakfast.

We huddled around her, waiting for signs for the rest of us, when I saw _him_. At least before my sight turned red, the same raging red that began to course through my ignited veins.

When I saw Callan standing there, in the middle of cafeteria doorway like that, something in me blew. I was tired of not doing anything, I was tired of containing myself. I didn't have to use my bionics to get my satisfaction.

Using my anger to my benefit, I pushed my way through the desperate girls clinging to his every word, and promptly backhanded him.

Everything stopped.

I swear to God, it was like the Earth had stopping rotating.

Someone behind me, most likely Rachel, tried to stifle their laughs, small giggles seeping through. I pulled my hand away, put it back to my side, but let it curl into a fist.

"What the hell, Christine?" Callan yelled, cheek beginning to turn a boiling red as he stared at me astonished.

I grabbed a fistful of the front of his shirt, yanking him down so we were almost nose to nose. "Remember this," I hissed. I could feel my veins pulsing, my heart drumming madly in my ears as it all sunk into a violent wail in my head. "No one gets away with screwing with me. You, idiot, are no exception."

Disgusted, I pushed him away, wanting him out of my sight. With a final stomp on his foot, I pushed him out of my way and slouched in my usual seat at our group's lunch table.

Chase and Leo sit down just as there's another smack of skin on skin contact and a yelp sounding behind me.

Leo stretched his neck, looking before he began to laugh. Chase, curious, twisted in his seat only to begin snickering himself.

"What is that bastard doing now?" I snapped, not wanting to turn around as they continued to laugh over my head.

"Well," Leo chuckled, "Rachel just slapped him. And now the rest of them are tugging at his hair and, by the looks of it, seeing who can cuss at the other the loudest."

Eyebrows raised, I turned in my seat to see the scene for myself. Sure enough, Rachel was in front, a fistful of Callan's (obviously bleached) hair in her manicured claws while she bent his head backward, Janelle, Sammie, and Ashley surrounding him while Bree inched her way over to us, laughing loudly, more awake than when I had left her.

When she managed to reach us, she quickly sat down in the chair on the other side of me. Her hands were already reaching in to her backpack to grab a notebook.

"Hey, Rachel-zilla has returned," Bree reported casually. I looked at the page she had flipped to - a bunch of bullet-point notes scribbled messily on the notebook lines with tiny arrows pointing to abandoned words and loose diagrams.

"Busy, much?" I said to her, gesturing to her notebook, where she was amazingly still fitting in small notes here and them. I didn't know how she had energy to write now, considering I'd seen her slumped over and practically drooling over the front of herself not even five minutes ago.

Bree shrugged. "I had a busy night."

I shrugged, leaving it alone as the rest of our group finally came, leaving Callan alone. Not that I wanted him to, but any more time spent beating his ass and a teacher was sure to notice. (Not care, of course, but still.)

"So, Rachel began, comfortably sitting on Adam's lap, "We need a new game plan to officially destroy these bitches." She leaned closer, her hair spilling over her shoulders. "And soon. One has already been a coma because of them, and someone has also been raped because of them."

Bree and I glanced at each other and flushed.

Ashley wrapped her nails on the table in substitute for not having a gavel of sorts on her. "I say we just go to the police with this," she suggested, "No mentioning of the _specialties_needed. Rape and severe harm of a minor - not to mention drugging - are already crimes on their own. It should lock them up for a damn long time, anyway."

Rachel pursed her lips, squinting over my shoulder. "True," she admitted, tapping a pen on the table, "but they have still have major leverage. If we go to the police with what they've done, they have evidence about what you, the amped-up level of this generation, can do."

"And that's the last thing we need," Ashley interjected dryly, "having to borrow a minivan and bust your asses out of a government holding cell."

"It wouldn't be that easy to ram a door down," I thought aloud. "They'd probably be made of something like titanium or something."

Leo perked up at this. "Then we could always borrow my grandma's ride, she busted Big D's titanium gate down."

I looked to Chase. "Is that true?"

He leaned down, kissing my shoulder as he whispered to me, "That woman scares me."

"Government penetrating aside," Rachel interrupted curtly, "We need a game plan. And I, ever the genius, have one."

Sammie made a "go on…" gesture with her hands. "Well? Get on with it then."

"Okay, so here's what we do." Rachel grabbed a notebook of her own, flipping to a clean page and beginning to rapidly sketch out her idea. "We need a way to make sure Callan and Tina are both backstage. Because she's, you know, _Tina_, she'll no doubt be backstage somewhere. That's where you two come it." She pointed to Janelle and Bree with her pen. "You'll be waiting for your cue to grab them, and keep them that way.

"Callan will go look for her during the intermission, right before the scene after the balcony one. When he doesn't find her, he'll find you—" She pointed to Adam next—" and we will take them to the lab for the phase of interrogation. Sammie and Ashley will stay back and keep an eye on Christine and Chase, just for precautionary measures."

"What about Marcus?" Leo pointed out, which was pretty daring. Everyone by now knew never to interrupt Rachel while she was on a roll.

Rachel turned to him, smiling in a way that made him clearly nervous. "You, my friend, are in charge of babysitting Eyebrows with Eddy."

I was so stunned by this that my eyes nearly popped out of my head. "Rachel, you know I love you, but are you sure pairing up Leo and Eddy is your best idea?"

She nodded her head, setting down her pen. "Absolutely."

Janelle stuck her hand in the center of the table. "Go team?"

Each of us followed her example. "All systems go."


	24. Chapter 23

**Hey, so I know everyone kind of misses the romantic vibe between the characters, and I'm sorry for not having much of it in some chapters. But I promise that in the end, I'll make up for it in a way you'll love! I swear.**

**But I'm totally not giving away any secrets. You'll just have to read until the very end.**

* * *

_November 13__th__ 2013_

Chase's Pov

I managed to go a whole day with the Jackass in three of my classes without Spike ever rearing his ugly head and screwing everything up. But, man, was it _hard_.

The only thing that made my day slightly better was seeing Callan laughed at for getting beat up and yelled at by a bunch of girls. And of course he didn't say anything because he was afraid that tattling on a bunch of girls have his height would make him look like a baby. (Not that the large handprint as big as my girlfriend's hand on his face made it any better.)

After school Christine and I walked home, well behind the others as we did.

"You know, we need a break," Christine suddenly exclaimed, slowing our swinging hands.

I stopped in my tracks. A break? I had enough teasing from Bree about such words to know what they meant. And I didn't like it.

"A break? You want to break-up?" I cried, startled by this. I knew the drama in our life was bad and all, but it hadn't been because of each other—or at least, not as much as it had been other people…

Christine blinked at me, what she said finally dawning on her. "Oh, God, no!" she protested, throwing her hands up. "Of course not! I meant a break like, from everything else." She leaned closer, her minty gum breath fanning over my cheek as she stood on her tiptoes. "I love our friends, but they are really good cockblocks."

I laughed, pulling my girlfriend closer and snaking my arms around her waist. "Want to have a date night?" I asked slyly, leaning my forehead against hers. "We could sneak off, have a cozy bookstore date with some coffee and maybe a movie."

She hummed, closing her eyes. I felt her small, delicate hands play with the hair on the back of my neck. "That sounds amazing," she whispered, smiling, "I can already hear that pack of Skittles calling my name."

I chuckled, placing a kiss to her lips. She was deepening it, pulling me closer, when she suddenly tore herself away from me. I made a noise wanting to protest, but she ignored me and spun around on her toes, eyes wide and bright. "Oh!" she said happily. "We should see Man of Steel! I've been dying to see that movie!"

I couldn't resist making a face. "You're obsession with Superman concerns me."

Christine rolled eyes, pecking my cheek as she started skipping down the sidewalk, her cruddy mood lifted. "Oh, Chase," she called to me, giddy. No doubt high on the promise of Skittles and Superman—her favorite combination. "Your jealousy for fictional characters I fantasize about really amuses me at times!"

"Hey! I am never jealous!"

Her laughed drifted behind me and engulfed me warmly as she continued her way down the sidewalk.

God was I in love with her.

* * *

We spent an hour or so at my house, Christine taken away from me by the girls after she proclaimed our date to them. They were knee-deep in magazines and several of Bree's Doc Martens the last time I knew. How loud they were playing Ed Sheeran annoyed me to no end, but it did no use for the more I complained, the louder the music was turned.

Seriously, at times that dude could get very depressing.

I was at the table studying (Davenport having made the lab off-limits, and the sad music and gossip only being maximum volume from my bedroom, Leo and Adam playing video games in the living room didn't seem that bad.) when Tasha came downstairs, her phone in hand.

"Oh, Chase," she called out to me. "Rem just called. She was wondering if I could give Christine a ride to the hospital to visit her father. Would you like to come?"

I slammed my Geometry book closed, marking my spot with my pencil. "Yeah, just let me gather my girlfriend."

Reluctantly I started upstairs and to the right to Bree's room. The door was closed, but I visibly winced at how loud they were playing their music. I opened the door, seeing Janelle sandwiched between Ashley and Sammie, several magazine spread out in front of them on the queen-sized bed.

Bree and Christine were lounging in beanbags near the TV, watching, by the looks of it, Teen Wolf. Rachel was nowhere to be found.

"Okay, I'm positive there were six girls the last time I saw you," I said, leaning against the doorway and making my presence known.

Bree launched a pillow at my head, which I narrowly dodged.

"Chase? Don't you dare be peeking!" Rachel's muffled voice cried from the depths of Bree's closet. There was some rustling and cursing as Rachel, hair mused and clearly frustrated, yanked on the front of one of Bree's old shirts she stole some time ago from Adam. "The last thing the world needs is an inside peeping Tom instead of one outside your window!"

"Right here, Rach," Christine commented flatly from her bean bag as she continued to flip through channels.

I smirked, walking inside the room and dragging her up. "We have to get going," I said, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Tasha is taking us somewhere."

Christine looked at me, leaning close. "Having your mom chauffeur us around?" she whispered. "How romantic."

Our lips met, coming with several protests from our unwilling audience.

"Gross!" Ashley cried, managing to clock our heads with a nearby pillow. "Get a room!"

My girlfriend pulled away, rolling her eyes and pulling me out, singing, "No funny business while I'm gone girls!"

Tasha was already in the car when we slid into the backseat. Christine immediately turned on her charm, smiling and asking polite questions about how Tasha's reporter career was doing, smiling and nodding in all the right places.

"You don't have to keep trying, you know," I whispered as Tasha droned on about a boring case of a mentally unstable man being found in a tree after being there for three days, believing he was a squirrel. "She already likes you."

Christine giggled softly, smacking my arm with her hand playfully. She had her right leg swung over mine, our hands intertwined on her lap as we rode along, on our way to the hospital.

We when we arrived, Tasha pulled up front, dropping us off before going to find a parking lot. With just a sweeping glance, I could tell that it was going to be quite a walk getting back to the car.

"Let's get this over with," Christine grumbled, leaning in to my side as we walked inside.

The kind faced nurse behind the counter smiled at us, asking for the room number and relation before giving us visitor badges to clip on to our clothes. Christine smiled in a way that looked pained, handing me mine before stalking off to the elevator. I clipped mine to the belt loop of jeans and jogged to catch up with her.

"No biting off innocent doctor's heads, yeah?" I whispered to her, hugging her from behind. In the steel of the closing elevator doors I could see the pout etched on her face. I buried my face in her hair as she punched the third floor button with more force than necessary.

"I wouldn't exactly call them innocent," she snorted, rolling her eyes at me. "But whatever."

She sunk in to my grasp as the ding went off, sharp and loud in the small space as the door slid open, signaling it was our stop.

We hurried off, starting down the hall to her dad's room, politely smiling at teddy-bear scrubbed nurses with clipboards as we past them.

"Oh God, he's still not up," Christine groaned when coming to the door, which lay open and showed all the room's contents. Which at the moment was a pale-faced man in a crisply made hospital beds with beeping machines around him.

We quietly entered the room. Christine gingerly perched herself on the edge of the seat next to his bed, taking his hand while I knelt by her side. She wasn't crying or screaming or making her face express any signs of emotions. She wiped herself to a clean slate.

Grant looked like he was sleeping. If he weren't in a hospital with an IV poking out of his then I could've believed he was just sleeping, about to wake up any minute.

Christine gripped his hand a little tighter, before standing and brushing greasy hair from his face and stomping out the door.

I sighed, looking back at Grant. Why the hell did he have to let his lover destroy his heart?

* * *

_November 15__th__ 2013_

No One's Pov

That Friday, Christine saw it best to take a mental health day. In all honesty seeing her father in the hospital like that was not something she looked forward to doing every time she went to visit him, especially when idiotic doctors told her things she already knew: that it would be a while before he woke up.

She tromped through Thursday in a snappish mood, making her feel bad for putting everyone around her on edge with what her next move was going to be. After expressing that she didn't want to repeat this on Friday, Rem allowed to let her stay home and gather her bearings.

Gladly accepting this, Christine locked herself in her room Thursday night, not appearing until well after noon Friday.

Christine felt foggy and was acutely aware of little dried bits of drool on the left corner of her mouth, but slumped on the couch, pulling her quilt around herself tighter.

"Oh no," Rem clucked disapprovingly, pulling on the quilt with a rough yank. Christine, deep inside the cocoon, made a whine of protest. "You did not come all the way down here just to mope more." She lugged the loosely wrapped girl into a slouched sitting position.

Christine fought her way through the makeshift hood the quilt had made over her head, crazed pieces of hair instantly poking into the air and twisting over itself.

"The whole point of a mental health day is to mope," the brunette muttered irritably. "You can't force me into manual labor on my mental health day! It's unheard of."

Rem chuckled, smoothing the girl's hair down as she whirred her way to the kitchen. "I don't plan to, honey," she laughed, picking up the tray she'd prepared not too long before Christine had come down. "But it's also not right to eat."

Christine sighed, having no other arguments, and took the tray and balanced it on her knees carefully. Rem was still on her sweet kick and made chocolate chip cookie dough pancakes (as always, drenched in syrup), banana nut muffins, bacon, and prepared a tall glass of sugary chocolate milk on the side. Christine gratefully took in the sweet scent of it all, quickly digging in.

"Hunter called," Rem mentioned casually, making the girl perk up considerably. Christine licked her lips, sticky with food and chocolate milk as syrup dribbled down her chin.

"Wha he sa?" Christine asked through a large bite of banana nut muffin.

Rem shook her head, reaching for a dampened rag to wipe at the girl's chin. "Nothing much. He said that his producer was letting him free today and he'd stop by later."

Christine leaned back, thinking about this. It wasn't that she didn't want to see Hunter; she often enjoyed when he visited considering that he rarely stopped by Mission Creek anymore because of being dragged all over California. But with how unpredictable her moods have been lately, not to mention him being the one who found her father collapsed in the first place, it made her anxious about how this could go.

It didn't help that things have been rocky between them ever since she and Chase said their first I love you's to each other.

She took another huge bite of food, stalling. After washing it down with the rest of chocolate milk, she finally said, "Okay, what time did he say?"

Two hours later Christine was dressed, brushed, and anxiously shifting herself on her spot perched on the couch. Her hands kept fidgeting, tugging at her black yoga pants and old Taylor Swift concert T-shirt.

"I hate when you do that," Rem scolded not unkindly as she whirred into the room, gently setting the girl's fast-moving hands on her lap. "It always sets me on edge."

Christine let her eyes bounce around the room, her fingers itching to yanking on her sloppy side braid. So nervous, she jumped when Hunter's signature knock came from the door.

"Oh God, he's here," she said, "God, he's early. Damn him and his impeccable timing."

Rem chuckled, beginning her retreat from the room. "Quit stressing, he's only a boy."

Christine stood on shaky legs and started toward the door, opening it slowly. "Hey, Hunter," she greeted quietly, ducking her head shyly.

Damn, had things really been this awkward between them? Or was her paranoia just making it worse in her head?

Hunter smiled down at her with ease. "Hey, Chris, how's life treating you?" he asked, easily slipping past her and making himself at home.

Christine sighed, suddenly feeling extremely worn. "Took a mental health day," she said, shaking her head, "but it didn't help much."

"Ah, that sucks," Hunter sympathized. "Seen your boyfriend lately?"

"We planned our next date and went to the hospital yesterday—man was that depressing," she shared, leaning back in the Lay-Z-boy and crossing her arms.

Hunter stretched out on the couch, raising his eyebrows at the petite brunette across from him. "Planning a date is depressing?"

Christine, despite her off mood, smiled at him, reaching over to swat at his leg. "Shut up, you know what I mean."

For a while, they caught up. Hunter told her about how crazy and on edge his management was being lately, and how he found the deadline for his new EP album to be ridiculous.

Meanwhile, Christine laughed at his stupid jokes and spilled about the recent discoveries their team had made—including the details about what Callan did to her.

"The bastard," Hunter growled, enraged to hear this.

Christine attempted to calm him down with what she had told herself a couple days ago. "Now, Bree doesn't know for sure what she saw, but she's almost positive that he didn't actually…you know…"

"But are you sure?" Hunter retorted, looking at his best friend with concern. "Are you positive he didn't? Boys are hormone-induced beasts waiting to jump on their prey, Chris, you can't be for sure he left you alone in that way."

Christine looked at her socks thoughtfully. "It hurt, Hunter," she said softly, "when we did it. But when I woke up at home—dad said he brought me—I felt fine. I didn't hurt. And that pain doesn't wear off for at least a day or two. I would've felt it."

"Should we tell?" Hunter suddenly asked quietly, looking at her solemnly. "Doesn't Chase deserve to know?"

Christine looked at him, blinking as she studied him. "Do you think he can handle it?" she asked.

"He'll have to."

* * *

Later, after planning on how they were going to gently tell Chase of their sexual past, Christine nervously led the way up the driveway to the Davenport residence. Hunter had been there before, on very few occasions, but it always struck him how big the inventor's house was.

Licking her lips, Christine rapidly knocked for a second before stiffly lowering her hand to her side.

Bree answered the door, much to her relief.

"Hey, guys!" she greeted cheerfully, seeming wide awake and freshly rested. She held a bowl of grapes in her hand, a bottle of water held carefully under her arm. She moved aside, letting them in. "What's up?"

"Hey, champ," Hunter said, ruffling her hair. Bree rolled her eyes, reaching up with her free hand to fix the strands that had fallen into her face. During the summer she finally got over the fact of Christine actually knowing the Hunter Hayes and found him nearly as annoying as her brothers were.

"How's the head," Hunter asked as he and Christine sat down.

Bree shrugged, popping a grape in her mouth as she made her ways to the stairs, no doubt going to her room. "You know, still feeling a little crazed, but that'll never fade." She gave them both a smile before hollering on her way up, "CHASE! YOU HAVE VISITORS!"

"God Bree, I'M RIGHT HERE!" They could hear Chase shout as his sister as they crossed paths in the hallways. His footfalls paused, probably having stopped to bicker with Bree more before he continued descending the stairs.

Chase smiled his boyish charm at them, taking a seat in the orange chair across from the couch. "Hey, what can I do you for?"

Christine took in a deep breath, taking her time with slowly letting it out. "We have something to tell you."

"And I don't think you're going to like it," Hunter added.

Chase remained silent, nodding and showing they had his attention in all the right places throughout the entire time Christine shakily relayed the story to him. She explained how, when she was fifteen and Hunter seventeen, they took the ultimate step and were each other's first.

For the most part, Christine thought he was doing incredibly well.

"So, Chase?" she laughed nervously, hands reaching up to mess with her braid, "anything to add?"

He leaned back, looking at the ceiling. He did that for a long time.

Such a long time Christine unfortunately didn't see the twitch underneath his eye and jaw, or how his eyes suddenly darkened to the fierce color of steel.

"Chase?" Christine said again, startled as he suddenly jumped to his feet, his chest heavily rising. She could understand him being upset, but he knew how to contain himself. Her boyfriend was the model child for self-control. Where was that side of him when she needed him?

He stalked toward Hunter, muscles tense, red creeping up his neck and resting on his face as he grabbed the boy's shirtfront.

"Hey man, calm down and let's just talk," Hunter tried to reason.

He received a powerful growl in his face, loud and low. "I don't want to just talk!" roared Chase, his voice suddenly deeper and his strength tripled as he toss him rough into the wall.

Christine watched, stunned as her boyfriend landed harsh fists into her best friend's stomach, making him crumple to the floor as his face banged against the floor's surface.

"Stop! Chase, knock it off!" She finally jumped into action, trying meekly to keep his fists from moving by yanking on his arms.

He easily shook her off, having the physical advantage and swung around, looking even more furious than before.

"Chase, stop it! Please."

Christine tried to get around him to Hunter, who was looking bent of shape with the river of blood running of his mouth and the odd angle his wrist was laying at. Not to mention the large bruises around his left eyes or the limp way his leg laid.

Chase blinked feeling confused as his angry faded, leaving him left with a deep feeling puzzlement. He slowly sat down on the couch, taking in the way his girlfriend hovered over the horribly injured country star lying unconscious on the floor, then looking at his hands. He took in the feeling of how sore they felt, like connecting with bone.

It was then Bree chose to grace them with her presence, her grape bowl now empty.

"Well, damn," she sighed.

* * *

**I hope that was enough romance to keep you satisfied. I didn't plan for it to be this long or take forever, but I promise I'll try to work harder on getting the next one done.**

**But for now, I must rest because writing so much moodiness into a chapter is mind-boggling for me.**


	25. Chapter 24

**Sorry this update was taking forever. I've just felt horrible lately (being sick really sucks ass) and I was at a loss for starting this chapter.**

**Only about eight or less chapters left. Not counting the epilouge. Final say about that to be annouced in the next chapter. Then I will disappear from this series for about a month, then we'll be kicking off the final book in this series called Begin Again.**

**Begin Again will probably be out in September or late, late August. Just saying.**

**And again, I'm sorry for making them fight so much, but if it was all mushy romance, there would hardly be any drama. And drama really makes for a good story.**

**I know self-advertising is really weird on co-written stories, but I've seen it done before, and have done it myself... Please check out Different Summers, a recent LR story I've started about a month ago. For those of you who read, an update will be coming soon, I swear.**

* * *

_November 18th 2013_

No One's Pov

It's been five days since Chase last seen his girlfriend, but he couldn't remember much of it. Except there was a lot of crying from Christine (and curses, not that he found himself able to repeat them) and disapproved looks from his sister.

But because of an insane training schedule and two missions involving armed goons on a druggie high (all of which Christine did not attend), Chase was left in the dark of exactly what he did until a rainy Monday lunch at school, where only his siblings and Leo were generous enough to sit with him. But Leo didn't really look like he wanted to, instead flinching under Janelle's heated gaze across the cafeteria where she sat with the girls clustered around Christine.

"Basically, she thinks you're the ass instead of Spike," Bree said nonchalantly, dipping her french fries into a pool ketchup.

"Which, personally is her fault," Leo added, noisily slurping his juice box, "because it's not like she hasn't met him before."

With a glare from Bree, he retreated, muttering, "I'm just saying! She should know how to tell them apart by now."

"It's not like she's actually seen a Spike transformation," Bree argued.

"Yeah, and the voice difference is totally not noticeable at all!" Leo sarcastically fired back.

Chase whistled loudly, effectively cutting off his siblings loud bickering. (And grabbing the attention of several annoyed students sitting nearby, but the group has learned to brush off such annoyed, and rather rude, looks.)

"What did he even do?" he asked desperately, at a loss for answers to accompany this question. "Spike only rears his head when something effectively makes me have an override in negative emotions."

"Maybe it's because Hunter and Chris told you about how they did the nasty," Adam bluntly offered, obliviously peeling his banana.

Bree whacked him on the back of the head. "Way to be gentle about it," she snapped at him. "And how did you even know that anyway?"

Leo snorted, setting down his juice box, finally accepting the fact it was drained. "You weren't the only one listening at the top of the stairs, you know."

Chase looked at the three of them. "My girlfriend," he said slowly, "had sex with her best friend?"

Bree tried to soften the blow of this information. "Only when they were dating. And it's not like they kept it a secret from you."

"Not forever at least," Leo once again helpfully added.

Bree rolled her eyes at him, beyond annoyed. "Dude, you really need to stop talking."

"I'm just saying what you leave out!"

"Because the last thing we need is another Spike out-break."

"Guys!" Chase shouted, cutting off their rising arguement. Sheepishly, his siblings turned away from each other. "I'm not mad."

This brought a shocked silence out of them.

"Uh, why not?" Leo asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow. "Because I'm perfectly willing to offer up my meatloaf if you have the need to chuck something." He scooted his tray forward for emphasis.

"I don't want to throw anything," Chase declined gruffily. "What I want is how to get my girlfriend back without her chewing my head off."

"Oh, don't worry baby brother." Bree waved a fry at him. "If anything, the other girls would do that before she would get the chance to."

He glared at her as she stuck her fry in her mouth. "Gee, thanks for that."

She smiled, chewing.

"Girls, so overly emotional," Leo muttered, mostly to himself this time. He looked folornly at his juice box, as if doing so would magically re-fill it.

"Like I said, they don't know it wasn't you being an ass," Bree reminded her brother. "They may have seen Spike in action, but they don't know what you would do if insanely jealous and, you know, _not _Spike." She paused, tilting her head in thought. "And it's not like he really talked anyway, mostly just hit and growled."

Adam tossed his banana peel on his tray. "Yeah, like the Hulk." Then he began laughing. "The Hulk in a doll's body!"

Chase tuned out his older brother's comment, keeping his attention on Leo and Bree, who were in the middle of a rather deadly looking glaring contest. Because Bree having much more practice (and confidence), she was winning mercilessly.

"What do I do? It's not like I can actually walk up to her here," Chase sighed, feeling desperate - a feeling he had not accustomed himself to.

"True," Bree agreed, "I mean, just because they like you a little more than Callan doesn't mean the girls won't hesitate with kicking your scrawny butt to next Christmas."

"And that they can actually do it," Leo chortled. Then let out an extremely feminine sounding yelp as Bree's heel connected swiftly with his shin underneath the table.

She ignored his cries of pain, looking sadly at her finished portion of fries. "Try making a gesture," she suggested. "You two were going out on a date before Spike went all Terminator on Hunter. Do something romantic."

"Like what?" Chase whined. "Just brazenly walk up to her and begin making out with her, granted she doesn't slap me first."

Bree perked up, snapping her fingers with a wide smirk on her face. "That's exactly what you're going to do."

* * *

Christine's Pov

I spent the entire Monday PMSing, just like the last five days since I saw Chase. Hunter was released from the hospital with a sprained ankle and two broken fingers, not to mention a huge shiner taking up his left eyes and most of his cheek.

In a way, I want to defend Chase, but I really can't.

My agreement with my dad about the whole bionic secret was to only tell Hunter about mine, unless the others wanted to tell him themselves. So we had a big sit-down and explained it, but Chase left out a very cruical power of his - he had a freaky spilt personality that went all ape shit if he gets too made or anxious or nervous.

I'm a person to not blab other people's secrets, so I kept quiet and just told him that Chase probably hated his guts.

God, I hate lying to people unless they deserve it.

Which, I was aware made me a bit of a hypocrite, considering that I held back the information of me not being a virgin from my boyfriend for the entire year and a half we were together.

I spent all of Monday avoiding him, half pissed at him for his lack of self-control, and half pissed at Spike for, like I said earlier, going all ape shit. I avoided Chase and his siblings, stuck with Rachel and the rest of my girls, letting them glower and bitch from a distance. I was too tired to join in. Instead I tried to tune them out and just nap.

I had give them credit, though. The heated glares had to be obvious even from across the room as they practically burnt holes into their backs. But not once did they look back at us. Then again, they were used to weird, annoyed, hateful looks for being the weird rich kids with the billionaire scientist that lived in a mansion. It would be safe to say they had a lot of practice.

(Not that I have never recieved similar looks in my lifetime, but still.)

For the most part, the girls kept their death threats against my boyfriend to a minimum. Although I was a bit concerned that Rachel wasn't tied down to her chair; for her being the most loud-mouthed and moody, I had no doubt she would do it more than the others. But she managed to make it through lunch pretty decently. Props to her.

When I got home after play practice, I was exhausted and just wanted to mope more. Alyssa made Callan and I be extra star-crossed today, although I think we had both made it clear we weren't as fond as our parts as we first had been when the play first began.

Today marked the slim two-week deadline we had until our final dress rehearsal. Only, not really, because our opening night wouldn't be until Friday night. Why she insisted on having the final pratice be four days apart from the real thing, I had no idea, and wasn't quite ballsy enough to risk asking her why.

(Alyssa had been acting enraged and crazy eyed all afternoon and no one was fearless enough to get close to her, not even kiss-up, kiss-ass Tina.)

Imagine my disappointment when I had to answer the door instead of digging out a big spoon and drowning myself in Rocky Road ice cream.

And I bet you can guess who was on the other side.

I sighed, mentally worn as he nervously stood in front of me, running a hand through his hair that anxious way he had of doing.

"What do you want Chase?" I asked, feeling well enough to be a bit snappish. "If it's to pay for Hunter's hospital bill, tell Davenport to mail the check to me later."

He jumped as if startled. Chase's eyes darted around, never landing on me.

"Well?" I prompted impatiently.

"Just tell her you love her, you idiot!" a voice said said suddenly, coming from seemingly nowhere. "I shouldn't have to write a script for you, God!"

I shook my head, stunned as Chase, sheepish now, glanced down to his jeans pocket. Where I now noticed the bulge of his phone in it.

"Is that Bree's voice? Stuffed in your pocket?" I asked. Now I felt more amused than moody, watching as he fished a hand in and pulled out his iPhone, Bree's face cracked into a wide grin displayed as her supposed "call" went on.

"She knows," he told her, defeated.

Bree made a sound that sounded like a snort. "Well, of course she does. I'm practically the one begging for her to take you back."

"She's not wrong!" came a muffled shout in the background that sounded like Leo.

"Stay out of this!"

"Make me!"

"Do you really wanna risk that? I'm trained to be a black belt of the first degree!"

"Is your entire family listening on the other line?" I asked, hearing Leo and Bree go at each other like wolves over prey.

"God, I hope not," Chase muttered, disconnecting the call and stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

I shifted my weight, my arms crossed as I sighed. At least we could get through this in a less awkwardly way - without his entire family overhearing as an unwanted audience. "Tell Bree her attempts were cute, but I'm still mad."

"Who are you mad at?" Chase asked, crossing his arms. Personally, I hated when he gained confidence like this in a middle of a fight, like his super-brain had solved the equation for him. It always made my arguments that much harder to preach for.

I snorted at this; because even to someone with the intelligence of Adam, the reason seemed obvious. "You're kidding right?"

"No, now answer the question."

"I'm mad at _you_, moron!" I went to punch his shoulder, but he dodged and moved right just in time to avoid my fist, letting my hand mke contact with air. I groaned. I hated when he did that.

Chase stood, shuffling so that if I were to try again anyway, he was too far to reach. "Why?"

"Because you landed my best friend in the hospital? Ring a bell?"

"Actually, no."

I rolled my eyes. "Have you been paying attention to anything around you for the past five days, idiot? Because everyone else can catch you up to speed if that's what you're here for."

"I came here to tell you that I don't remember a thing about that afternoon," Chase insisted, annoyed like I should know this already. "Because when Spike activates I am no longer concious."

"You were concious enough to make Hunter's eye swell shut."

"For the last time, Spike and I are two different things - in the same body! While I am a person, Spike in a defense mechanism that comes out when I shut myself down."

"Whatev - wait, shut yourself down?" I repeated slowly. "As in, shutting yourself down?"

Chase nodded. "Yeah, as in shutting down to process - or, in my case, download - a major piece of information. My mind - and Adam and Bree's, slightly - work like computers because of the chips we have, Christine. You don't. You're given your powers through default programs put in your systems later during puberty. We've had them since we were created.

"Because of that, I was taught to shut myself down - like a comeputer - when a part of me is compromised. When I do that, Spike comes out. I'm not in control of what he does, because he's all testoserone and rage, an app made to take down whatever made me shut down. And that happened to be Hunter. Whoopsies."

"Part of you compromised as in...?" I asked, not fully getting it. But the parts I could make out made sense. Unfortunately.

"As in experiencing a total mental breakdown and causing my brain to go haywire," he elabroated. "Understand now?"

I sighed, kicking at my porch with a slippered foot. "Yes," I said grumpily.

"So, again I ask, who are you mad at?" Chase stepped closer, no longer afraid of my punches. (Not that I was gonna throw one without receiving something back, anyway.) "Who are you mad at?"

I looked at him, frustrated. I stomped my foot. "Why do you always have to be right? Can't for once you just -"

I never get to finish my sentence, because at that moment he chose to slam me against the doorway and smash our lips together. I wanted to push away, to still be mad and throw a fit, but instead I found my hands circling his neck and grabbing a fistful of his hair. I feel his fingers slip under my shirt, softly kneading my slight stomach muscles developed from so much training during the summer.

Suffice to say that fight didn't last very long after that.

* * *

_November 21st 2013_

With all the fighting over with, my only reason for my moodiness was that I felt responsible for Hunter's fingers in casts and that I was still extremely pissed that my dad had _finally _up, but stupid "Dr. Lexington" wasn't allowing anybody to see him - not even family was allowed.

Even though it was perfectly fine for me to storm in to his hospital room and see him in a coma, it wasn't all right for his daughter to converse with him when he was actually awake?

What medical degree did you have to have to make that descision, freaking Dr. Lexington?

Suffice to say, the rest of my week was spent with me ticking like time bomb.

This news was given to Rem on Wednesday, while she was making a huge batch of cinnamon peanut butter cookies, by the way, right when I was taking my last forkful of sausage and egg scramble. ("Something new this morning," Rem had cheerfully decided when I saw it sitting on my plate, hot and steaming still.)

She wasn't too thrilled about this either, and I could tell by the way her gears made a distinct whistling sound from her core. But God be damned if Rem was going to show any other emotion besides fake cheeriness around me nowadays.

Even Tina and her little Devil crew had backed off a little bit, now mocking from a distance I suppose. Or their puppetmaster was commanding them to heel until some big finale on play night, not that they know about our plans.

Now, Janelle, Chase, and I were sitting in our last class of the day - English.

It wasn't a horrible class. The teacher, a peppy blonde named Ms. Sue, reminded me a lot of Tasha and wrote on the white board in squiggly cursive that screamed cheeriness.

Currently in class we were talking about the effects Shakespearan writing had on the readers of this generation. Or, more accurately put, we were broke up into groups that pretended to talk about what it was like to read Shakespeare writing. Poor Ms. Sue sat in her chair, grading papers, completely unaware of this.

I felt kind of bad for her as Janelle, Chase, and I (convenitly grouped together) sat on a horse-shoe shaped table in the back of the class, not talking about the assignment ourselves.

"Okay, how many times do you think Rachel's gonna make us practice this?" Janelle asked, swinging her legs.

I snorted. "Between now and opening night? Probably as many times as Chase wears high tops."

Chase, not even looking up from where he was untying and retying the laces of my Converse, flicked my ankle. "I heard that."

I reached up and ran my hand over his hair, feeling its slightly spiked top underneath the palm of my hand. "I know you did, babe."

After another two minutes of complaining about Rachel's overbearing bossiness, Ms. Sue had us regroup and settle back into our usual seats.

"Now, who would like to share what their group discussed?" she asked cheerfully.

You could practically hear the crickets. No one was exactly mimicking her enthusiasm as she had hoped.

"Ah let's see here...Christine! Ah, yes, Miss Grant; why don't you share with the class what your group talked about when dealing with the topic of Shakespeare and the emotions he draws with his works?"

Reluctantly, I lifted my head up and stood, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my hoodie.

"Uhm, my group discussed..." I looked to Janelle, who was sitting the closest to me, for help. But she did was snort and turn away, completely throwing me under the bus. Gee, thanks for that.

"Yes, go on," Ms. Sue prompted brightly.

"We discussed...the tragedy!" I said a little to quickly, a little too loudly, "yes, we talked about how the tragic era of how Shakespeare wrote his stories influenced the reader's way of dealing with the events of the books. Like, for example, in Romeo and Juliet he had an element of sadness mixed in with the star-crossed love nature of the two characters, more than one emotion from the reader instead of just a common feeling."

Ms. Sue smiled, looking satisfied. "And were you able to list a few of these emotions?"

"Uhm, you know...things like frustration and hope, loss, a connecting with the character's way of mind."

"How wonderful! It's nice to see that some students actually follow instructions in this school!" With that she turned to the board, writing down half of what I said in her squiggly handwriting while I sunk back down in my seat.

I think I avoided that disaster quite nicely, if I do say so myself.

* * *

**Okay, so the ending's pretty bogus. But I'm actually pretty happy, because this chapter came out longer than expected.**

**Next chapter's a big one. That's all I'm gonna say about that.**

**Review and share with us what you thought about this chapter. Still feeling crappy, so this chapter came out as pretty much a filler. But some major stuff did happen, make-out scene, Allan's awake, Tina's less-bitchy.**

**Until the next chapter.**


	26. Chapter 25

**Awh, only three more chapters after this one. Which is really sad. I always feel really, really sad when I end stories. Ugh, me and my emotions.**

**Anyway, I know I said there would be like eight or so chapters left, but really there's going to be about two after this one, then the epilogue, and then it's done.**

**But fear not, for Chase and Christine's story will continue on, and I'll probably give a sneak peek into how in the A/N note on the epilogue.**

* * *

_December 13th 2013_

Chase's Pov

"How did you manage to swing this?" I asked, indignant, as Ashley pulled at certain parts of my costume and Sammie spiked my hair up with her gelled fingers.

Bree stood in front of, a head-set clipped onto her ear and a clipboard in her hands. She shrugged, a smirk sliding on her face. "I can be persuasive if I really want to," she said easily.

I narrowed my eyes at her, not convinced. "Bree..." I said in warning.

She sighed, flapping a hand at me. "Oh, fine. I locked Callan in a janitor's closet and hid the keys."

Ashley and Sammie paused in their movements of making me staged ready to snicker ruthlessly. My lips begin to twitch, because the idea of Pretty Boy banging on the wrong side of a janitor closet door was highly amusing, but I managed to keep my amusement of the situation to a minimum to shoot my sister a stern look.

Bree challenged it by rolling her eyes. "Please, like you wouldn't have done the same thing."

I fell silent to this, because I know she's right. Not only would I have done the same thing, but probably worse.

"Do I really have to wear tights?" I muttered, feeling the back of them beginning to ride up. I knew from the minute I saw them all flush faced and cunning that it was bad idea to leave me alone with Ashley and Sammie when in charge of something that permitted them to use me as a Ken doll. "Can't I just wear something else as equally stupid but more fitting? Like poofy pants."

Ashley thumped me. "Shut up with all your whining," she commanded, going back to straightening out my shirt and the stupid hat they put on me. "Just be lucky you and Rachel are the height and she allowed us to use hers."

"Oh, gee, and not even my own pair of death traps? God, do you women spoil me."

Bree leaned over and thumped, not even looking up from her clipboard. "She's right; shut up."

I scowled, standing still as they finished up with me.

Sammie waved her brush around, satisfied with her work. "And there. That's how you turn a geek into a star-crossed peasant."

Like that opportunity was going to knock on her door more times than this.

"Oh my God, did anyone else notice that it's a Friday? Friday the thirteenth?" I winced, the pitch of Alyssa's shrill voice irritating my sensitive hearing. All day she'd been obsessing about the date, saying that it was a sign everything was meant to go downhill.

Really, our plan was to _stop_ everything from going downhill, but what if all her shrieking and worrying about meant something? What if something threw off? The calculations didn't add up right?

A man in tights and a feathered hat did not need this kind of stress and pressure on his shoulders when about to perform in front of 500 watching eyes.

"Opening scene starting in five!" Bree called out, hurrying to the left to gather all the actors needed from that scene.

I sighed, standing off to the side and watching as people scramble, buzzing around like worker bees to get the final cut perfect.

Davenport, Tasha, and Leo were sitting in the third row with a gray-faced Grant and anxious-looking Rem, just barely in my view. Davenport kept acting fidgety, playing with his program to the show.

Two lanky drama geeks stroll by, decked out in their costumes for the opening scene.

"Alyssa!" I could hear Bree calling out. "You're needed for introductions in two—scratch that, one!"

Alyssa whizzed by me, frantic as her hands reached up to nervously run through her hair. "Everything will be fine," she muttered frantically, looking up at me crazy-eyed, "right? Won't it! Tell me!"

Blinking, I slowly tried leaning away, prying her hands off my shoulders. Sammie was going to kill her for bunching up the costume if the stress didn't destroy Alyssa first. "Uh, that's your cue."

I turned her around and pointed out Darren, a tech geek that was helping Bree keep backstage under control, was frantically waving at her to get on stage from the other side.

Alyssa sucked in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and slapped a plastic smile onto her face, confidently striding on stage.

Bree looked at her from the other side of the stage, microphone in hand. Alyssa, finally realizing that her hands were empty, gave a nervous smiling to the chuckling crowd. Turning, she quickly caught the microphone Bree sent spiraling toward her in mid-air.

Alyssa shifted, looking out to the crowd with her eyes slightly squinted. Even from where I was standing the lights were hard on the eyes.

"Sorry about that folks," she said nervously, "but welcome to the Mission Creek school production of the Shakespeare play, Romeo and Juliet!"

A loud applause came, eager parents waiting to see their kids on stage. I could make out a few siblings in the crowd, bored and playing on their phones, only half listening.

Alyssa says a few more words about how DVDs would be available in a week at Parent Teacher Night before excusing herself from the stage.

And then we were off.

* * *

Most of the play was a complete success. Christine and I were grinning idiots with every kissing scene we had, and all the women in the audience gave their respective awes as they gushed.

Truth be told, the play was perfect. But when all the cast and backstage crew came on stage to take a bow, that was when things started to get a sketchy.

Christine was somewhere at the right end, with Gemma and Damon while I stood more toward the middle with Ashley on my left and the beefy guy who played Capulet on my right.

"Oh my God," Ashley muttered, her right hand nicking the small of my back. I smiled to the crowd that stood and cheered for us. "Last row, sixth seat to the left."

I took a millisecond long look at her in the corner of my eye. Her glossy lips were spread into a wide smile, no signs of her talking. Who could she have seen in this crowd that would alert her? What could she have seen?

My mouth was still smiling, accepting the gracious applause that was for other people's kids, and not really me, but my eyes zoom to the back, struggling to make out the dimmed figures in the bright stage lights.

And suddenly I see it. I see _them_. Tina and Marcus were scowling while sitting on either side of the Christine's mom had been with in the paparazzi photos—James. Callan wasn't in sight. I began to wonder: was he really with them as much as we thought? Or was he just a phase—a pawn for their game just like us?

Just as we started being escorted off the stage, I saw her. It wasn't enough to really tell, but in a brief splash of tangled dark hair, I saw Marian slip out of sight.

"You guys were fantastic!" Tasha gushed, pulling Bree, Christine, and I into a suffocating hug as soon as she saw us.

"Wow, do you have a grip," Christine choked out after she finally pulled away. I nodded into agreement, at where she had crushed my arm against my side. Where Tasha managed to build up all this strength when she was so busy with book club and bickering with Eddy, I have no idea.

(And how Leo was a wimpy stick with noodle limbs with a mother stronger than him, again I have no idea.)

Slowly, I eased myself away as Christine pulled her dad and Tasha into conversation, watching out of the corner of her eye as Bree dragged me out into the hall.

"To the closet we go," she sang sarcastically as we skidded to a stop in front of a janitor's closet far down the hall from the auditorium's doors. Bree slid a bobby pin from her hair and straightened it, jamming it in the lock and wiggling around until she heard the satisfying little click sound of the door unlocking.

I nearly burst into laughter at the sight in front of me.

Bree must have knocked him over the head with something, because there was a big knot on the side of his head. His hands and were bound behind him, a two rows of duct tape went around his head to cover his mouth, and he had his butt in a bucket.

"Aw, he regained consciousness," Bree said, looking down at him disappointedly. With her boot, she prodded at the bucket, making it tip and bringing down the boy stuck in it with it to the floor.

"What were you hoping to drag him out and stuff in the dumpster?" I asked, smirking at the thought. But my happiness was dampened a little by the feeling of the material of my tights bunching up.

Bree shrugged, her arms crossed over her chest. "If necessary, I suppose."

"I'm not stopping you. They are a lot of heavy objects in this room."

Bree raised an eyebrow, looking at the other buckets, brooms, and mops in the small area. "Very true."

Callan was giving us a bug-eyed look that was getting a little creepy.

"So, what do we do with him?" I asked, closing the door behind us.

Bree knelt down, taking one edge of the tape and beginning to rip it.

"Shit, woman, what's the matter with you?" Callan yelped, beginning to wriggle around. It wasn't like he got very far; it was probably because all he could do was crawl with that bucket still stuck on his butt and us blocking the doorway.

Bree rolled her eyes at him, unfazed. "Alright, you're free to go," she said, slashing his bounds off with the sweep of a sharp piece of metal that was lying on a shelf. But before he could move to get that bucket off, she picked him up by his shirtfront.

"But keep this in mind," she whispered, dangerously close to his face, "I find out you said anything about this, a bucket on your ass will be the least of your worries, got that?"

After watching nod fearfully, she dropped him, making her dramatic exit. I looked down at him in disdain before following her out.

"Think he'll anyway?"

"Nah, he knows I got Rachel as backup. Would you risk that kind of thing?"

I didn't answer before the answer was obvious—anyone who had common sense would value their vitals more than going up to face Rachel. Even when she wasn't in a bad mood.

* * *

"So you really think it could have been my mother?" Christine asked, sitting cross-legged on her bed.

I nodded, leaning against the lab's counter. It was an hour or so after the play and I was mentally wiped, and still cringing at the thought of ever having to wear tights ever again. Christine had invited me to Skype with her, so I took that as the perfect time to relay what Ashley had seen to her.

"Definitely, if James was there, it was more than likely that she wasn't far behind," I said.

"But, why was she leaving? It'd seem like she'd be glued to his side like Barbie and Eyebrows are," Christine said aloud.

I shrugged, yawning. "I don't know. Maybe she was out running evil errands to keep the Puppet Master happy?"

Christine paused, mewling over this information before snapping her fingers, and her eyes going wide. "What if that's what he really is?" Christine asked, astonished. "What if James really is a puppet master who's some controlling everything?"

"But the science for control over another human's mind is years away from now," I protested.

Christine snorted, rolling her eyes. "Please, it wouldn't be hard to stick a chip in someone's brain, minus all the cool powers, and sit back with a control panel and play a real life version of Sims."

"So, you're saying all this time James has been controlling your mothers and our peers?" I asked skeptically.

She hesitated, planning out her words carefully.

"I'm saying…that I'm giving my mother the benefit of the doubt."

* * *

**I know, this chapter is really short even though it took me forever to update, but I had total writer's block on this one, and I had a limit of what to put in here, and when and how, and then I had to start thinking of the next chapter…**

**My brain was in at least 20 different places at once, so bear with me.**

**I'll try to make the next chapter update an earlier one, but I can't promise anything. It will be the second to last chapter, then the epilogue. So…yeah, that's that.**


	27. Chapter 26

**For the reviewer who asked, yes there will be a third book.**

**Um, the only reason the updates have been slow is because I'm lazy, sleep in until noon, and procrastinate a lot.**

**Updates are no different.**

* * *

_November 15__th__ 2013_

Christine's Pov

Rainy Sundays were my favorite things in the world. I don't know what it was, but something about flashing lightning and the loud boom of distance thunder fascinated me.

Plus, I was in a fantastic mood. My dad was back, feeling better than ever after a few days of much needed rest. And that wasn't even the best part—the play was a huge success! Being out on stage, completely stepping into someone else's shoes and taking on a whole new persona, thrilled me.

Of course there was still the threat of James and my mother's disappearing act hanging over my head, and the fact that we were now clueless on what to do with this information, but waking up that morning and starting down stairs, smelling bacon and eggs, I was in too good a mood to care.

"Well, aren't you in a happy mood today," Rem observed, catching on to my emotions as soon as I came down the stairs, "any reason why?"

I shrugged, reaching up to scratch at my bun, my gather hair about to flop in my face. "Just a good day I guess. Plus, I smelt bacon. Every day is a good day with bacon."

She couldn't agree with me on that, so Rem just tossed some strips of meat onto my plate and slid some scrambled eggs next to them. I salted them, nodding in thanks as she poured me a glass of chocolate milk.

Because dad was back home, Rem's sugar rush ended. I loved pancakes and snicker doodles as much as the next person, but a girl could only take so much before the taste was permanently etched into her mouth.

It just felt right to see dad sitting at the table, his steaming coffee in his favorite mug next to his elbow as he read the paper, just this close to spilling all over his clothes.

While dad didn't sulk around flannel pajama pants and robe anymore, you could still tell that he was sad if you looked close enough, and knew how to look. I could tell because his jaw was tightly set, and the tiny vein above his left eyebrow twitched from time to time.

I couldn't complain, because he was home and not stuck in some stuffy hospital with moronic doctors getting on my last nerve. Because seriously, my boyfriend could diagnosis my father better than him, bionics or not!

Just as I was about to stuff another piece of bacon in my mouth with a forkful of eggs, the doorbell rang. That action in itself was unusual because all the people we know knocked or called first, or in my friends case, tapped the door, said their name, and then came in. The doorbell was what we considered a useless decoration that came with the house.

"Something's using the doorbell," dad said, raising his coffee mug to his mouth, "that's never a good sign."

I rolled my eyes, getting up and starting over to the door. Being cautious, I stood on my tiptoes and looked through the peephole. I couldn't make out much due to the person standing so closely to the door, but I could make out the top of a Red Wings cap and some escaping curls of brown hair.

A short guy in a cap on our doorstep at nine in the morning—everything about that sentence screamed that something shady was going on. But, like the idiot I am, I grabbed the nearest, heaviest object—a walking stick dad never used and Rem and I thought was hideous—and projected it above my head like a javelin, then threw the door open.

Oh great, I thought drily, meeting big brown eyes under messy locks and that worn cap, I'm trying to defend myself against a middle schooler.

"Uhm…" I started unsurely, looking down at him, "hello? Are you lost?"

The kid looked up at me, tearing his cap off and shaking out his hair. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said professionally, taking me by surprise, "I'm Bradley Allan. And you are Christine?"

Dumbly, I nodded my head.

He smiled politely, sticking out his hand. "Hello, I'm your brother."

* * *

There's a lot of things a ten-year-old randomly appearing on your doorstep could tell you. Like, for instance, he got lost and wanted to use the phone; he was running away from a creepy truck that had been following him for several blocks; he needed to alert 911 of an emergency.

But a ten-year-old appearing at my door and claiming to be my long-lost brother that I didn't know existed wasn't on that list.

"Okay, so…what?" I asked near hysteria as I paced frantically in front of the couch where Bradley calmly sat, drinking a glass of chocolate milk Rem had brought out for him.

"Our mother, Maria, is being held by James," he explained, "and his accomplices are making sure she stays that way. And I need your help to get her free."

"Wait, how are we here talking? Wouldn't they have held you captive too?"

He shrugged, his bony shoulders rising and falling noncommittally. "I'm ten. I'm pretty sure they didn't expect for me to have many brains."

Truth be told, neither did I. For a kid who was claiming to have seen our mother trapped, and would have had to be with her when she was captured, his education was showing quite brightly. He was like a miniature Chase, if not how he was when he was this age. Who said I had to believe him? This kid could very well be one off the streets, looking for some food and shelter for a bit, making up some names and excuses. Just because he was saying the right things could be a coincidence, right?

"Listen, kid," I started, giving him a pointed look as he wiped away a chocolate mustache, "how am I supposed to believe you? You could be an orphan kid off the streets for all I know!"

This Bradley kid shrugged again, looking indifferent as he wiggled a phone out of his pocket. "I believe these will change your mind," he said simply, tossing it to me.

I caught it single-handedly, looking at the sleek rectangle in my hand. For a moment, I let myself be envious. While I too had a smart phone, I had a cheap one with dents from dropping it all the time and a keyboard that didn't slide out.

Bradley's was obviously a newer version, the entire face a screen with no real keyboard except for one that popped up when you needed to type something. That wasn't fair, he's only ten but had better technology usage than I did?

Then I took notice of the picture on the screen. It was blurred, as if taken in a rush, but I could make out the lab-like features with the wall entirely made of screens with a control panels pushing out below it. I slid, bringing up the next picture. It was of a dim room with a metal table in the center, what was taken of the walls lined with filing cabinets.

Something about the detailing made the room seem very familiar to me, even though my father's semi-labratory looked nothing like this, and neither did Davenport's. Those were the only two labs I've ever been in my entire life.

Although, I have forgotten important details before, so it wouldn't surprise me in the least if something drugged me to make me forget about being in their private evil lab.

While this was big information, I had no idea what to do with it by myself. I sighed, stuffing his phone in my robe's pocket and stuffing my feet into my Uggs that were lying by the door. "I'll be back!" I called out to Rem and dad, dragging Bradley behind me and the door.

Bradley didn't seem surprised when I dragged him to the Davenports' and down to the lab.

Everyone was there, including Tasha, was down in the lab when the elevator doors opened to expose me and the guy who could or could not be my long-lost little brother.

Davenport's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "AHHHHAAHA!" he shrieked, dropping whatever invention he had been proudly showing off this time.

Adam snorted, his leg tangled in the arm of his chair as he hung upside down. It was going to be a bitch trying to get up, I knew. "Even I'm not that stupid."

"And he's an idiot," Leo added for emphasis. Adam nodded along in agreement, his face bright, bright red from the heavy blood flow to his brain.

Leo and Chase gave me stupefied looks, as if I knew that bringing down humans was a violation. Which, I did, but when they really started glaring was when I began laughing at the looks of their faces. Because it was priceless.

Bree eyed Bradley curiously. "This little better be important."

I decided on giving them the short version. "Bradley, my team. Team, Bradley, the ten-year-old who may or may not be my long-lost brother."

When noticing that their panicked looks still stayed plastered on their faces, I dug out his phone and tossed it to Davenport. "You're gonna want to have a look at this."

Davenport grabbed a plug that would connect the photos to his control panel so everyone could see them. Apparently all the photos had been in an album labeled "SECRET FOOTAGE," which Davenport clicked on to bring them up.

I knocked Bradley on the shoulder. "Way to be subtle about it," I snorted.

He shrugged. I was beginning to see that he did that a lot. "Like I said, they didn't care what I knew."

With his face hidden under his thick mass of curls and that stupid cap, it was hard to tell what he felt, even more so with how indifferent he kept his tone and the steady glance he remained trained on his shoes. He must know that anyone who sees his face can read him like an open book.

Bradley remained silent as everyone let out their gasps and mutters of disbelief. The pictures carried less of a shock to me. I couldn't exactly pinpoint the reason as to why, but I think it had something to do with the fact that my life already suffered to many surprises to react many more of them, at least in this lifetime.

But the brother thing—that certainly remains a shock.

"So, why is he here?" Davenport asked me after the album has been completely viewed twice through.

I shrugged. "Apparently being a big sister means having to save their pathetic mother, who never bothered to share the tiny little secret of the thing standing under the cap."

There was a sudden gasp.

Everyone snapped their head to Bree, her face pale as she stumbled from where she sat on top of the desk to a free desk chair, staring at where a holographic screen had lit up the air, exposing the pictures to all the eyes in the room.

"That was the room," she muttered, putting her head in her hands, "that was the room I discovered my ability in. That warehouse."

Everyone in the room exchanged anxious looks at each other. Everyone except for Bradley. He stood still, head down like he was trained to act like a lamp—a piece of furniture without any form of opinion, let alone the right to share one.

I squinted at him. He was another thing altogether. I would get to the bottom of _that_ later.

Adam let out a loud, pained groan. "Awh, man! That means we're gonna go _back_!"

Later that night, Rem refused to let Bradley out of her sight, or to sleep on a bus bench like he did the night before he showed up on our doorstep. He took the guestroom and retreated early, leaving my dad and me with things to discuss.

"Is he really my brother?" I asked. "Was mother really pregnant when she left?"

He sighed, staring at the coffee table listlessly. The very fact he could meet my eyes said just as much. "Christine," he said finally, "there are a lot of things your mother took with her that we shared. The news of another child being among those things wouldn't surprise me."

"But, for _eleven years_?" I sputtered. "If that woman was crazy enough to come back here for me ten she could've at least sent a postcard to say 'oh, yeah, by the way I have your other _kid _with me!'"

Dad sighed, nursing what had to be his fifth cup of coffee—at least.

"Your mother is a walking mystery, Chrissy," he gave wistfully, "No one knows why she does anything, or why she keeps the secrets she does."

_More like mysterie_s, I thought bitterly as I trudged up to bed myself.

_December 16th 2013_

"What do I do with him?" I asked, looking at Bradley over the rim of my mug. The steam from the fresh cup of hot chocolate Rem made for me rose up to fan my fan, landing across my cheeks and nose, making the corner of my eyes water.

Rachel snorted from beside me, nursing her own cup in her manicured hands. "He's a kid Chris, not a wild animal."

"There's a difference?"

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "You're horrible."

Bradley was in Leo's clothes, which Bree had brought over earlier that morning before school. Or, when we thought we would have school. But it was closed because of tornado warnings, and the heavy rain storm scaring the shit out of everybody.

Rachel braved these conditions and forced Trina to drive her here on her way to her trainee class at the salon, which she would be attending rain or shine.

"He looks so tiny," Rachel commented now, taking another sip of hot chocolate.

Bradley's own cup sat in front of him as he was bent over a notebook he had politely asked Rem for after he changed, completely Leo-ified.

"That's because he is tiny. And you would be too if locked in a lab with your mother by a wacko for God-only-knows how many years."

She leaned closer, her eyes still trained on Bradley from where we sat on the couch. "Does he have the youknowwhats?"

"Bionics?" I filled in, my tone loud just to annoy her. In return she shot me the bird and a really nasty look. "No, but he knows about them. And quit avoiding the word, it's not like Lord Voldermort will appear. Honestly."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"So, what are the guys going to do?" she asked, looking at me.

I shrugged. "Last time I talked to Chase was when he was texting me early this morning. He said Davenport was going to have Bree do some private training to control the hallucinations before they went anywhere. They're probably finishing up now."

"Why are you going?"

I rolled my eyes. Duh, the answer was pretty obvious. "Uhm, uh-duh, dude," I said, nodding my head in Bradley's direction.

Rachel went silent for a moment, loudly slurping her hot chocolate. Finally she said, "you know it would suck if he was just listening to us right now."

"Yeah, it really would."

* * *

**Sucky ending to a sucky chapter. I feel a little okay because this is longer than the last chapter, but the next chapter will be better, I hope.**

**Anyway, please leave a review and tell us what you thought. Nine more until we have 100 reviews. That's always exciting, right?**


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